


When Stars Become Spectacular

by glasseswoo



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Family Issues, Foreign Exchange Student!Junhui, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Minor Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Oneshot + epilogue, Stargazing, planetariums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasseswoo/pseuds/glasseswoo
Summary: The rational thing to do when the universe gives you an impossibly short time limit with someone is to cut your losses before you get too attached.Unfortunately, Jeon Wonwoo has never been as rational as people think he is, especially when it comes to love.Especially when it comes to Wen Junhui.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Comments: 72
Kudos: 168





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When you have an irrepressible, all-consuming love for Junhui, Wonwoo, and 96-line in general, so you can't help but write out an 20k fic for them.
> 
> Note: The places referenced in this fic are just name placeholders; they may or may not be geographically accurate.
> 
> This is chapter is a standalone one-shot; the second chapter is just a very short epilogue of sorts. Couldn't help myself, I loved writing in this verse. That said, hope you enjoy! <3

Professor Yang once told Wonwoo’s astronomy class that humans are made of stardust: a stellar explosion happened at some inconceivable point of time, and now its atomic remains vibrate within their gravity-ridden bones. People in the lecture hall had turned their heads and looked at each other with wide eyes, like they’d just been told something extraordinary — like _they_ were extraordinary.

The first time Wonwoo heard this, he couldn't help but think that it’s just another way for humans to spin their existence into something more significant than it really is. An attempt to find common ground with something greater than themselves.

The knowledge that he’s got the remnants of a celestial body in him doesn’t grant him any privileges or make him feel special, not when the universe wouldn’t bat an eyelash if living stardust turned into — well, dust. All things are equal like that, governed by the law of impermanence. He supposes the universe is fair in that respect. Everything will meet their end eventually; even stars die after completing their life cycle. Wonwoo knows this clearly, after all, he passes the giant stellar evolution infographic poster at least twice a day when he walks through the physical sciences building.

Still, he wonders if something can die if it never existed in the first place. Because to Wonwoo, the name _Wen Junhui_ is associated with the words _ticking clock, seven months,_ and _plane to China_. 

The rational thing to do when the universe gives you an impossibly short and clear time limit with someone is to cut your losses before you get too attached. People are rarely ever given this kind of opportunity; it’s usually the fear of the unknown that gnaws at you from the inside, the not knowing of whether the clock runs indefinitely or if it’s set for tomorrow. The difference, however, is that one makes you think there’s a chance, the other kills it before anything starts. Smother the spark before it turns into a fire, and hopefully it'll prevent your house from burning down.

The thing is, Junhui didn’t even give him a chance to turn around and back away. He'd walked into Wonwoo’s life, blazing, like he had just left earlier and came back to continue their conversation. And unfortunately, Wonwoo is hardly as rational a person as people perceive him to be. Especially when it comes to a particular someone.

So, it comes to no surprise that Wonwoo is sitting across from said person at the second Chinese restaurant he’s been to this week, and it’s only Wednesday.

“Wonwoo-yah.” With his chopsticks, Junhui pokes a sesame green bean against Wonwoo’s lips to get his attention and holds it out for him. Wonwoo looks away from the laminated pages of the Chinese menu to quickly open his mouth before the oil and sauce can get on his chin.

“Hm?” Wonwoo bites all the way down on the chopsticks.

“Minghao said this restaurant has the best _ma la xiang guo—_ hey!” Junhui swats at him when he finds that he can’t pull back. When he finally frees his chopsticks, he picks up one of the other side dishes and puts it onto Wonwoo’s plate. Junhui holds his chopsticks in a very peculiar way, and Wonwoo finds himself questioning the logistics of it every time he sees it in action. “Want to order one and split it?”

“Sure,” Wonwoo shrugs, agreeing readily. He’d forgotten to eat lunch today anyways.

“Ooh, wait. Let’s share those sweet and sour spareribs too, every restaurant can make those taste really good.”

Wonwoo pauses mid-chew and eyes him warily over their steadily accumulating dishes. “Just how fat do you think my wallet is?”

Junhui is already waving back the waitress, and he rattles off their orders before Wonwoo can protest. “My treat, for coming with me,” he says, and tries to wink, but all he does is scrunch up his face.

As Junhui alternates between shoving green beans in his mouth and piling more food on Wonwoo’s plate, he wonders what possessed him to make him so attached to someone that’ll move a thousand miles away to chase his dreams in China. Unlike Wonwoo, who goes wherever he’s pushed and pulled, Junhui seems to clearly know what he wants and he fights for it. Wonwoo is certain that Junhui’s talents and work ethic can take him to wherever he wants to be. From what he’s told Wonwoo, Junhui is already eyeing several internship positions back home and is backed by his family’s reputable company, which he’d one day succeed. When he isn’t in class or with Wonwoo and his friends, he’s bulking up his resume with impressive endeavors.

The universe seems to think it’s funny, putting the two of them together. Two pieces that fit together but weren’t meant to be.

All of Wonwoo’s closest friendships had been built slowly over time. Soonyoung had come up to him in the ninth grade, buzz cut and braces, and just asked him outright to be his best friend. After pestering Wonwoo for god knows how long, that title’s stuck even now in university. Jihoon took the first step too, by asking him to be his project partner in high school because he “seemed competent enough”. That mutual understanding and acknowledgement also grew over the years, especially after Soonyoung was their mutual friend and they later started dating.

With Junhui, it was different to say the least. See, in physics, you learn that all mass has its own gravitational pull, although it’s negligible in the grand scheme of things. Humans just don’t have a large enough mass for there to be any effect. But Junhui? Junhui was more like a second sun that had suddenly been thrown into the solar system, completely throwing off the orbit of all eight planets.

That is to say, in an extremely roundabout way: Wonwoo’s life revolves around Junhui’s.

By the second week of meeting, Wonwoo’s lunches are timed to fit both of their schedules. By the fourth week, his nighttime routine consisted of showering, brushing his teeth, and saving the new cat video Junhui sent him into his camera roll. The margins of his lecture notes are covered in cat doodles and other ridiculous monstrosities. In the blank spaces of a note on nuclear fusion, _WEN JUNHUI_ is scrawled all over the page in poorly written, wobbly Chinese characters. Wonwoo had asked how to write Junhui’s name and how to pronounce it properly. He doesn’t remember what nuclear fusion is, but he does know how to write 文俊辉 and how to say it with a decent Mandarin accent.

Wonwoo can’t understand how this even happened. Was it the cat videos? He doesn’t know, and it’s too late anyways. 

But no matter what it is that he feels about him, the consolation here is that this is only temporary. He doesn’t want to call it a crush because crushes are just that: temporary feelings of attraction, or even just appreciation. It also implies something lighthearted, and there is nothing lighthearted about wanting to tell someone to stay, and sabotaging their dreams in the process. The future, what could have been, and everything else Junhui had worked towards, gone just like that.

“What are you thinkin' about?” Junhui asks, looking at him curiously. He pushes chestnut-brown hair out of his face, and reaches for the chili oil to color his food an even deeper red.

Wonwoo chews for a moment and says, “You know, when Professor Yang said we’re all supposedly made of stardust, he actually had people thinking they’re somehow special.”

The waitress delivers the _ma la xiang guo_ and it fogs up his glasses slightly when he leans over to take a whiff. The aroma of garlic and onions is familiar; it’s the same one he smells every time Junhui takes him off campus to try different Chinese restaurants.

Junhui chuckles, eyes round and inquisitive. “We’re not special?”

“Hardly.” Wonwoo drenches the meat in the sauce at the bottom of the pot, dabbling it a few times at the edge to stop it from dripping.

Junhui juts out his bottom lip in thought, and it’s horribly cute whenever he does that, so Wonwoo busies himself by shoving the stir-fry meat in his mouth. It burns his tongue slightly.

“I guess it is kinda romantic,” Junhui muses.

“Mhm.”

“But you don’t think it’s even a little mind-blowing that humans have something in common with a starry night? Even though those stars are light years away?”

“Stars die just like we do,” Wonwoo says. He reaches to grab the chili oil from Junhui's side of the table. “I think that’s common enough already.”

Junhui grins. “That’s a comforting thought,” he says, without any sarcasm because Wonwoo knows he’s incapable of that. He pauses, looking pensive. “I guess it would be kind of cool to go out in a huge explosion though, like a supernova.”

Wonwoo blinks.

He gets rewarded with melodious giggles and crinkling eyes. “I thought you liked talking in metaphors, so I’m trying it out too,” Junhui says cheekily. “Really elevates my Korean, don’t you think?”

“Your Korean’s good enough.” Wonwoo rolls his eyes and shoves more green beans in his mouth, savouring the taste absentmindedly. “What, you’re saying you want to go out leaving a big impact on the world? That’s definitely romantic, I’ll give you that.”

He thinks it makes sense, though. Humans gravitate towards the ideal and are in love with the idea of leaving behind a legacy.

They pause to divide the _ma la xiang guo_ on their plates. Junhui waves his chopsticks at Wonwoo’s plate, gesturing for him to take the rest before the waitress comes by and removes the empty dish. 

“Actually… on a second thought. That’d be nice, maybe, but I don’t know,” Junhui hums. Under the table, he playfully nudges Wonwoo’s leg with his foot, and Wonwoo traps it between his ankles, tangling their legs together. “I think I’ll just explode all over you and a couple other people in my life.”

 _You will, in about seven months,_ Wonwoo thinks. Wen Junhui is an inexplicable enigma, incomprehensible and unpredictable, but Wonwoo feels he understands him somehow. He’s a living contradiction unlike anyone Wonwoo’s ever met, but in a way that makes sense for him; the kind of person who dreams fearlessly and expects great things from himself but is content with reaching only those closest to him. Someone with high expectations for himself but low expectations for others.

Wonwoo doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready for when Junhui leaves. He doesn’t even know how to approach that. Because when stars die, they never just simply go. They explode, brilliantly and spectacularly. The more mass it has, the larger its supernova. It’s death and glory unlike anything else. This time — he eyes Junhui trying to shove five pieces of pork in his mouth at once and snickers — Wonwoo gets to decide just how spectacular it can be.

“It’d be a pain in the ass to clean your guts off my shirt,” Wonwoo quips instead.

Junhui laughs with his entire body, tilting his head back and covering his mouth in vain to stop food from flying everywhere. His right cheek is bulging from the meat he stuffed in his mouth and his lips purse, trying to contain his food. It’s all at once gross and endearing and cute, and it leaves Wonwoo feeling lighter and lighter with every laugh. Wonwoo’s chest is doing that god-awful thing again: that arrhythmic, fluttering beat to his chest like a hummingbird dancing about in his ribcage.

It does that thing a lot nowadays. Blissfully ignorant, shameless; it feels whatever it wants to feel regardless of the consequences. 

_Fool_ , he thinks, and waits steadily for the wings to vanish and drop him down to the ground again.

Cosmic stardust, earthly dirt. Same difference.

The thing about routines is that you don’t notice it until you realize that you can’t go without it anymore. What starts as a single occurrence becomes a weekly affair, and then a necessity to get through the week.

Three months into this friendship, or whatever it is, Junhui brings Wonwoo to an entirely different universe on a Thursday afternoon.

It’s almost the end of class, but as always, Professor Yang keeps talking through the bustling of chairs and the rising chatter. Wonwoo starts putting his books back into his bag, barely hearing the professor’s attempt to cram as much information as possible into the last minute of class.

Beside him, Junhui nudges him with his elbow as he’s shoving the last notebook into his bag. “Wonwoo, let’s go to the planetarium together.”

“Now?” Wonwoo zips his bag up and pauses to look up give him a quizzical stare. “Isn’t the nearest planetarium almost two hours away?” he asks.

Junhui’s eyebrows shoot up and he blinks rapidly, looking positively appalled. He abruptly shoves his own remaining books into his bag and reaches over and to sling an arm around Wonwoo’s neck, dragging him out of the lecture hall, calling out an _excuse me_ every so often as they make their way through the crowd of students. Wonwoo nearly trips over someone’s foot on the way out.

Apparently, in all his three and a half years or so of undergraduate study, Wonwoo’s been completely unaware that the university actually has a planetarium on campus. He’s still confused and trying to wrap his head around the logistics of it, wondering _how does the university have so much money? are they actually rich? why aren’t they using the money to upgrade their shitty lab equipment instead?_

Things make a little more sense when he’s standing in front of one of the plainest doors he’s ever seen, in one of the maze-like hallways of the physical sciences building. _PLANETARIUM_ _in_ black, block letters, stamped on the doorway. The boldening effect is sort of nullified by the lack of good lighting. All in all, it looks exactly the same as the entrance to one of the hundreds of other classrooms in the same building.

Junhui takes his keycard and swipes it across the sensor near the door.

It’s incredibly underwhelming, but the excitement in Junhui’s eyes and his proudly puffed chest tells him that it has to be more than it seems. The theatre space is about the size of his bedroom back in Changwon, and he can probably cross it within 10 steps, although the dome ceiling and the dark lighting is probably making it seem smaller than it is. There are only two rows of tilted seats around the circular theatre, surrounding what looks like a gigantic projector. Both their footsteps become muffled, with the dome’s acoustics dampening any echoes.

It hits Wonwoo suddenly that it _is_ more than it seems. There’s nobody in there. It’s just Junhui and him, in a tiny, tiny space. He swallows and turns to Junhui just as the doors close and the ambient light outside narrows to a line before disappearing.

“How did you even know about this?” Wonwoo can barely hear himself. The planetarium’s acoustics project his voice outwards and hardly any sound makes it back to him.

“All students registered in astronomy have access to the planetarium. You _would_ know, if you paid attention during orientation.” Junhui raises his eyebrows pointedly, clicking his tongue teasingly. He waves a hand at the seating around them, gesturing him to sit down as he walks up to the podium at the back to fiddle with controls.

Wonwoo frowns but picks a seat in the back row. The lights under the seats dim when he gets settled, and the theatre turns almost completely dark.

Without warning, the dome is lit up by a dashing sunset, with the sun racing down towards the west, and Wonwoo holds his breath.

The projection is sped up, so that the sun evokes Apollo’s fiery chariot, driving further and further down, pulling a dark blue sheet across the sky in its wake. The orange, red, and pink hues bleed down the sky as the sun dives under the horizon, and the theatre is enveloped in darkness once again, only now it’s faintly lit by the stars. They follow the sun’s spectacle, settling across the dome quietly and modestly.

Since he moved to Seoul from Changwon, Wonwoo hasn’t been able to see the stars so clearly. In drastic contrast to the suburban neighborhoods he grew up in, Seoul is a city that never sleeps. It’s constantly bustling with life with red-purple lights and golden streets, lively on the ground yet shrouded in darkness above, much like the dome ceiling he’s sitting under. Like this, with the stars scattered and so luminous, it feels as though Junhui has split open the skies with a flip of a switch.

Junhui shuffles his way to Wonwoo’s side and plops down in the seat with a wistful sigh. Under the star light, Wonwoo can barely make out his sharp features, but he can certainly see the galaxy reflected in his irises.

“Bet you wish I took you here sooner.” Junhui beams when he turns to face Wonwoo.

“Why'd you take me here anyways?” Wonwoo wonders.

Junhui shrugs nonchalantly. “Just because.” He nudges Wonwoo shoulder, asking instead, “D’you know any constellations?” His finger brushes against the back of Wonwoo’s hand on the armrest they share, sending tingles up his spine.

“Ursa major and minor. Andromeda. Cassiopeia.” Wonwoo tears his gaze away from their hands to peruse the night sky, looking for the characteristic line of three stars. “There, Orion’s belt. Easiest way to find Orion.”

“What about the Big Dipper?”

Wonwoo pushes his glasses up his nose bridge and points back to the constellation near the North star. “That's a part of Ursa major,” he explains.

“You know a lot,” Junhui says in awe, and then pokes Wonwoo’s cheek. “We don’t even study constellations in our course.”

Wonwoo chuckles, grabbing blindly at Junhui’s finger. “It’s just interesting. Another one of those rabbit holes you go down once you scratch the surface. Plus, the stories and myths behind them are fun to read about.”

“Mhm, still. You’re like a living encyclopedia,” Junhui declares, sounding oddly proud. A comfortable silence settles over them, and Junhui slides his arm under Wonwoo’s, linking their elbows together on the armrest. The action is well-practiced and Wonwoo’s arm relaxes in recognition of the familiar weight. 

“Wonwoo, tell me a story,” Junhui says after a few moments.

“What story?”

“Any story. A fun one.”

Wonwoo snorts. “You’re like a kid,” he says, with no bite, as he wracks his brain for one to tell him.

“Please?” Junhui pouts, and tugs on their elbows.

He thinks for a few more seconds before he settles on one.

“In Greek mythology, there was this queen, Cassiopeia, who was married to King Cepheus. That’s his constellation next to hers, actually,” Wonwoo points out in the sky. “She took a lot of pride in her looks, to fault.” Wonwoo pauses, and smirks. “Kind of like you.”

Junhui’s free hand smacks his chest lightly. “Hey! Did you pick this story just to tease me?” he whines.

Wonwoo laughs. “You told me to pick a fun one,” he drawls, before continuing. “One day, she bragged that she and her daughter were far more beautiful than the sea nymphs. Which was a huge mistake because Poseidon’s wife was a sea nymph, so Cassiopeia had angered not only the sea nymphs’ father but also the god of the sea. The gods sent a monster to destroy part of the kingdom, and to appease them, Cepheus and Cassiopeia had to sacrifice their only daughter to the monster.”

“What? Just because she bragged about her looks?”

“I guess so.”

Junhui hums, sounding dissatisfied. “What happened after that?”

“Well, a Greek hero Perseus saved Andromeda from the monster and they fell in love, so that turned out alright. But before they could actually get married, another guy who was already engaged to her decided to fight Perseus for her hand. Perseus got a hold of Medusa’s head to defeat him and turned him into stone, but he accidentally killed the King and Queen in the process too.”

“What?” he repeats incredulously, tone rising higher.

“Mhm. After they died, Poseidon hung them up in the sky as constellations. Just because he could, he condemned Cassiopeia to spend half of the year hanging upside down to punish her vanity. Those five stars that form a _‘W’_ is supposed to be her sitting on her throne.”

A few moments pass before Junhui speaks again.

“…I’m not _that_ vain....”

Wonwoo glances at Junhui’s pursed lips and tries to stifle his laugh, but he can’t help himself at the sulky tone. He knows Junhui isn’t really vain — well, just not as much as people believe. He flicks at Junhui’s nose lightly, causing the latter’s face to scrunch up. “No, you’re only three-fifths as bad,” he says, before he can think.

“Huh?” Junhui looks at him funny.

The lighting is dark, too dark to see anything beyond the sharp nose, doe eyes, and heart-shaped lips. But Wonwoo doesn’t really need any light to see — any stargazer would know where the stars are by heart. Wonwoo reaches over and grazes his finger across the two moles sitting on top of his upper lip, then brushes upwards to the one on his left cheek. Plays connect-the-dots, like he’s thought of doing an innumerable amount of times, and the constellation he traces out on flushed skin forms a part of Cassiopeia. Junhui stills under his touch, eyes unblinking and wide as they follow Wonwoo’s hand.

 _Ah,_ Wonwoo thinks belatedly, and stiffly retreats his fingers into a fist by his side. The comfort and anonymity of the darkness brings out the thoughts buried in him that shouldn't make it to the light of day. His finger is tingling, and blood is rushing up his neck, warming everything from his face to his ears.

Truth be told, the space between them is one that is frequently traversed, but he has a terrible idea of its distance.

“…you only have three of the five stars.” Wonwoo finishes, sort of unable to look at him. The North Star is just above Junhui’s head.

Junhui slowly lifts his hand and touches his upper lip. Wonwoo instinctively tracks his movement but catches himself, and immediately looks away to the starry skies for refuge. They provide no such place; he can’t see Cassiopeia without seeing Junhui. 

“Aren’t you going to name it?” Junhui says suddenly.

Wonwoo looks back at him and opens his mouth, then closes it, genuinely speechless.

“All constellations have names,” he prompts. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. “Why don’t you name it then, since you found it first?” Junhui’s eyes glimmer with mirth, stars swirling, galaxies turning. A boxy smile grows on his face, revealing all his teeth and sculpting out round cheeks. He waggles his eyebrows impishly.

Wonwoo exhales a shaky breath and laughs fondly. “You’re ridiculous.” He shakes his head but can’t help mirroring Junhui’s smile.

“Come on now, I’m giving you the honor here,” Junhui laughs with him, bumping his shoulder against Wonwoo’s.

Wonwoo shoves his shoulder back and bites back his grin with futile effort. “Fine. I’ll just name it after myself.”

“And you call _me_ vain?” Junhui retorts with a scandalized look that melts into a huge, mischievous grin. He tightens his hold on Wonwoo’s elbow, trapping him so that he’s unable to escape the onslaught of tickles.

“I’m not the one who spams the group chat with their own selfies—,” Wonwoo chokes out, desperately trying to dodge the fingers jabbing at his sides to no avail.

When they finally leave the planetarium with their elbows still linked and his eyes are struggling to adjust to the brightness, it’s like time has left him behind. Like someone pressed pause and the world only just resumed. Like the ordinary door to the planetarium opened to an extraordinarily different universe, where the only thing that matters is the breath of space between them, and the only constellation in the sky is Wonwoo’s.

It’s during those Thursday afternoons, every single week from then on, when he clutches onto those hours, desperately stealing fragments of time.

Sometimes, he entertains Junhui with another story. He tells him of Orion, Ariadne, and Pegasus, and when he runs out of stories, Junhui animatedly tells him about something absurd that happened to him during his day. Other times, exhaustion and stress catches up to them, and when one happens to fall asleep, the other quickly follows. They get kicked out at least twice because of that, but Wonwoo isn’t really there to see the constellations and sunsets anyway, not when he has his very own.

And for those few moments, he'd briefly forget that Junhui isn't staying. He'd let himself believe that come graduation, he would finally gather the courage to tell Junhui that yes — Wonwoo's been in love with him ever since he caught himself wondering if the pretty sprinkle of moles on Junhui's face forms one of the constellations he's seen back home in Changwon's night sky. 

That's the kind of universe he enters on his Thursday afternoons. The stars might have written their stories already, but Wonwoo thinks, he can at least have this. 

The front door of Jihoon’s apartment slams shut, and keys clatter against the kitchen table where Soonyoung throws it haphazardly. The commotion makes Wonwoo wince and look up from his worn copy of _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_. He furrows his brows when he sees the small dents in the table that had accumulated from Soonyoung’s habits.

“I’m fucked,” Soonyoung groans, throwing his bag on the floor and slamming his head on the table, a mop of blonde hair spilling out onto the lightly stained wood.

“Exam didn’t go so well?” Wonwoo guesses.

Soonyoung grimaces and rubs at his eyes tiredly. “I’m just glad Jihoon has vodka here.”

“Kwon Soonyoung, you are not going to throw up all over my carpet _again_.” Wonwoo sees Jihoon shuffle out of his bedroom in slides and a tank top, headphones around his neck, sporting one hell of a glare. “Also, I didn’t give you a key just for you to wreck my door and my table. You’re paying for it when they break,” Jihoon adds.

“That was one time!” Soonyoung complains but shrinks a little in his seat, looking sheepish.

“One too many,” Jihoon says. He pats Soonyoung’s neck, hand lingering at his nape, before he passes by to get into his kitchen space. He digs out a one-litre coke bottle from the fridge and tosses it to Soonyoung. “Settle for coke. Junnie is coming with snacks later, you can gorge yourself then.”

Soonyoung accepts the coke graciously despite its lack of alcohol content and takes a huge gulp. “Where is he, by the way?”

“He has a midterm right now,” Wonwoo replies, briefly glancing at his phone for the time. “It ends in half an hour.”

“Oh God,” Soonyoung puts his forehead back on the table after screwing the coke bottle closed. “He’s gonna make us eat those dried sour plums, isn’t he? I need _greasy_ , not healthy.”

Wonwoo snickers and flips the page. “You’re in luck, Junnie ran out of those yesterday. Besides, I already told him that you’ll need junk food. He even promised to bring you fried chicken.”

A hand bats at Wonwoo’s book and he momentarily loses his grip on it. He glowers at Soonyoung.

“Yah, what do you mean you already told him? You knew I’d do bad?” Soonyoung whines.

Jihoon plops down beside Soonyoung and snatches the coke bottle — or jug — from him, no doubt prepared to chug at least a third of it. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “You didn’t even care about this exam yesterday, why do you care now?”

“Because I didn’t know I would do _that_ bad?” Soonyoung tries. He lifts his head from the table, and there’s a giant red imprint on his forehead. Wonwoo doesn’t try to hide his laugh, and Jihoon snorts. 

Pouting, Soonyoung leans his head on Jihoon’s shoulder, to which the latter immediately protests to by shoving his hand against Soonyoung’s head, but he eventually gives up and settles his fingers in the latter’s hair. Soonyoung lets out a noise of contentment, and Jihoon begrudgingly combs his fingers through the bleached strands.

Far from being a stranger to their antics, Wonwoo watches them with amusement. But he also can’t help feeling a twinge in his chest at the complete lack of inhibition and space between them.

He catches Soonyoung’s gaze and looks away, regretting everything immediately because Soonyoung knows, Soonyoung always knows.

“Wonwoo’s thinking about him again,” Soonyoung tells Jihoon, before shifting Jihoon’s headphones to get more comfortable against Jihoon’s neck.

Jihoon doesn’t miss a beat. “Let him. It’s his favorite pastime.”

Wonwoo has never been so thankful to hear the doorbell ring. He gets up so fast the chair screeches against the flooring, but not before cussing at them.

“I come bearing gifts,” Junhui announces, grinning widely when Wonwoo opens the door. He’s holding two plastic bags; one with the convenience store logo on it and the other carrying the delicious, heady aroma of fried chicken.

Wonwoo takes the bags from him to let Junhui settle his backpack down. “You’re early,” Wonwoo comments.

“It was easy,” he says as he toes off his sneakers. “Most people finished within an hour.”

“Nice—”

Soonyoung rushes past Wonwoo in a blur of blonde and flailing limbs, attacking Junhui with a hug. “My savior, my bringer of fried chicken,” he cries.

Junhui frowns and pats Soonyoung’s head consolingly. “Sorry your exam didn’t go so well,” he says sympathetically.

“Junnie’s the only one who cares about me around here,” Soonyoung laments. “I come back broken and the first thing these people do is bully me.”

“Jun-ah, your milk tea’s in the fridge,” Jihoon calls from the kitchen, grunting when Junhui runs in to happily hug him as thanks. 

They tear open all the snacks in the living room, carefully so as to not get chips on the carpet — the same carpet that probably still carries hints of Soonyoung’s vomit. Turns out Junhui bought more dried sour plums along with the promised chips, and Soonyoung was quick to shove it into the back of one of the cupboards before Junhui could make them eat it again. Jihoon brings out more coke and plates for the chicken before they all gather around Jihoon’s monitor to put on a Marvel movie, just like they always do after a particularly taxing exam season.

“We’re not watching Spider-man again, Soonyoung.”

“Fine. What about the first Avengers one?”

“Black Panther,” Jihoon insists. “We’ve only seen it once.”

“But we’ve only seen Spider-man twice!” Soonyoung holds up two fingers and aggressively waves his hand.

As the two banter over what movie to watch, Wonwoo nudges Junhui sitting on the floor in front of him, and Junhui turns his head around to face Wonwoo on the couch. He digs his chin into the dip on Wonwoo’s left knee, which cannot be that comfortable but Wonwoo isn’t about to complain.

“When’s your flight?” Wonwoo asks, fingers twitching while trying to resist the urge to poke Junhui’s cheeks. About a week ago, Junhui told him that he was considering going back to Shenzhen for a few days after midterms were over. Wonwoo on the other hand, always went back to Changwon with Soonyoung during spring break since they practically grew up together and lived extremely close to each other.

Junhui shakes his head, lips tightening into a line. “I’m not going back anymore.” He lifts his head off Wonwoo’s knee slightly, but he doesn’t really meet Wonwoo’s eyes when Wonwoo gives him a questioning look.

“I cancelled my flight a couple days ago,” Junhui elaborates a little hesitantly. “I figured I should try and stay here as long as I can.”

“Ah,” Wonwoo says, not quite sure what to say in response to that. Icy cold water was just poured down his neck and there’s something stuck in his throat that’s making it hard to swallow, but he tries anyway. Junhui leaves out the _before I leave_ part, but Wonwoo hears it loud and clear.

“You’re just staying here all alone?” Soonyoung asks, frowning. He’d given in to Jihoon’s wishes, and _Black Panther_ is on their Netflix window. 

Junhui nods, fidgets and starts picking at the hem of his knitted sweater out of habit. Wonwoo reaches over and tugs on his fingers to stop him from ruining his clothes. 

“Why don’t you come stay with me and Wonwoo?” Soonyoung suggests out of the blue. Wonwoo nearly chokes in surprise, deer in the headlights. _What?_ “We’re going back to Changwon by train tomorrow.”

“Oh. Uh,” Junhui’s eyes dart back and forth between Wonwoo and Soonyoung, and Wonwoo tries not to let the panic show on his face. “I don’t want to impose though.”

“You wouldn’t be!” Soonyoung insists. He glances at Wonwoo with eyes narrowed in scrutiny. “Right?”

Silence.

Words seem to get stuck in his throat, itching its way upwards and lodging his tongue. This is happening more and more often; he doesn’t know what to say in the wake of the uneasiness eating at his insides, and he can’t explain why.

Several beats pass.

When he looks back at Junhui again, he has a startlingly soft expression on his face. Junhui’s hand replaces his chin on Wonwoo’s knee, and he feels his heart drop down to the pit of his stomach when it finally registers in his brain that it’s a look of understanding.

“It’s okay,” Junhui says softly. An easy smile tugs the corner of his lips up, and he pats Wonwoo’s knee once. “I get the planetarium all to myself,” he adds more cheerfully, but it all feels wrong and Wonwoo’s mouth moves despite being unable to respond.

“I’ll be here for the break,” Jihoon interrupts. “The studio I’m working with is a lot closer to here than it is to Busan.”

“See, then I can visit Jihoonie!”

When Jihoon presses play, Wonwoo leans back on the couch, limbs heavy and shoulders tense, fixating his gaze on the screen. He’s seen _Black Panther_ before, so he knows enough of the plot that the movie isn’t able to distract him from his own thoughts.

At this very moment, Wonwoo feels like he’s been seen through and through.

 _2 months,_ the date on the corner of Jihoon’s laptop screen reminds him.

Later that night, after the fried chicken has long disappeared and the credits roll, Wonwoo walks Junhui back to his building in complete silence. They walk through the neon streets of downtown Seoul, still loud and bustling with nightlife, the screech of cars rushing to stop at the lights, the laughter and shouts coming from open bars and restaurant stands. He’s never had to fill the silence between them before and he doesn’t want to start now.

He’s jerked out of his thoughts when Junhui yanks him out of the way of a giant puddle in the sidewalk, and he crashes into Junhui’s side unceremoniously.

“I—sorry,” Wonwoo says, and suddenly the word feels foreign and wrong on his tongue, so he repeats, “Sorry. Thanks.” The hand steadying his elbow leaves, and the warmth leaves along with it.

“It’s okay,” Junhui says lightly, looking ahead.

As they reach the edges of downtown Seoul and near Junhui’s apartment, the neon lights and gaudy colors become less conspicuous, letting the street lampposts illuminate the street with a flickering amber light instead. The city has yet to fix the faulty bulbs. Beside him, Wonwoo feels Junhui slow down and he turns to see what happened.

A family of three passes them, and the mother is exasperatedly yelling at her son to stop purposefully jumping into the puddles in the street. Wonwoo realizes that the son must be around Fengjun’s age and wonders how long it’s been since Junhui has seen his little brother.

“Won’t you miss your family?” Wonwoo asks cautiously, breath catching when Junhui blinks quickly, the look on his face slipping into something conflicted.

He doesn’t reply for a few moments.

“I’m not sure they want to see me yet.”

The lights on the street flicker on and off, and distantly, Wonwoo wonders when they’ll give up and surrender the streets to the dark. The lamppost that they’ve stopped beside is faintly buzzing. The mother’s nagging voice and son’s happy squeals fade.

Junhui turns away from the departing family and keeps on walking.

“Junnie,” Wonwoo starts, concerned, picking up his pace to follow him.

Junhui gently touches the crook of Wonwoo’s elbow to stop him, and says, “It’s okay. Really.” He chews on his bottom lip. Like always, his fingers reach for the hem of his sweater. And like always, Wonwoo catches his wrist, except he doesn’t let go this time and pulls Junhui to a stop.

“Junhui.”

Junhui looks at anywhere but him, and finally settles on his own shoes. He shakes his head, and Wonwoo tightens his grip on his wrist, not enough for it to hurt but enough to make Junhui stay. Wonwoo feels Junhui tense under his fingers and does to Junhui as Junhui does to him: he instinctively pulls him forward to wrap his arms around him. He settles his chin on Junhui’s shoulder and strokes the back of his hair, fingers tangling in the locks of brown illuminated by the streetlights. A sense of relief washes over him when he feels Junhui bury his head against his neck and he breathes in, taking in the familiar scent.

“I’m not what they want,” Junhui finally speaks, words muffled in Wonwoo’s jacket. “Not yet.”

Wonwoo holds him tighter, bringing his hand down to the nape of his neck as he waits for him to continue.

“All my life, I’ve been working towards taking over my dad’s company someday,” Junhui’s voice wobbles but carries on without fading, and Wonwoo feels hands grip the front of his jacket. “They once put all their hopes on me. I can’t let them down now, I owe them that.”

“Why?”

“I just… I just want to do something _right_ by them, for once,” Junhui inhales shakily, pulling away. “I’ve never been someone they can be proud of.” He laughs a little, half-heartedly. “I mean, imagine having a gay kid as the CEO of a huge company.”

Wonwoo’s chest seizes up.

He pulls away to grip Junhui’s shoulders, getting him face-to-face. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he says lowly.

He meets Wonwoo’s eyes for what feels like the first time tonight. There aren’t any tears to wipe away, but his eyes glisten and his irises reflect the flickering, saturated street lighting like the licks of a flame, with a kind of determination — or desperation — that Wonwoo’s never seen in Junhui before. “I know that. _I_ know that. But I have something to prove. After I graduate with my degree and I have an internship lined up, then I’ll go back.”

The force behind his eyes stuns him.

“Let’s go to the planetarium after the break.” Junhui lets go of his jacket, carefully fixing his collar and giving him a small smile. He looks away again to fixate on the space between their shoes. “You don’t have to see me all the way back, it’s really dark now,” he says.

The sky is a low swirling cloud of gray from the remnants of the rain that must have passed during their movie.

Junhui steps in for one last hug, wrapping his arms around Wonwoo’s neck. Immediately, Wonwoo encircles his waist and settles into his shoulder again. He feels Junhui do the same, like home, like two pieces that fit together. “Travel safe. See you after break, Wonwoo.” Then he adds, “Don’t forget to bring me your mom’s _tteokbokki_.”

“I promise,” Wonwoo says hoarsely.

Junhui smiles. Wonwoo wants to believe that it reached his eyes.

Back in Jihoon’s dorm, Wonwoo might have been able to avoid his best friend. A three hour train to Changwon, though, that’s a different story.

He even attempts to sit in a different row, but Wonwoo is dragged and shoved up against a window seat with no means of escape, so he makes a show of looking out the window as if he’s a terrible actor in a melodrama, just to piss off Soonyoung.

“Wonwoo.” The train starts moving sluggishly, chugging along the tracks while moving out of the station until it finally picks up speed and the surrounding buildings become a blur of grays and whites. Wonwoo rests his forehead against the window, feeling the vibrations go through his skull. Anything to block out Soonyoung’s voice.

“Why didn’t you invite Junnie over?” Soonyoung jabs his side with his elbow and Wonwoo jerks away, banging the side of his head against the window in his haste.

Wonwoo winces and scowls, rubbing at his temple where he inadvertently tried to use his head to bust open a glass window. “None of your damn business.”

“None of my — Jeon Wonwoo, I don’t know what the hell you were thinking but it was probably something idiotic.” Soonyoung says, letting go of Wonwoo probably after realizing he already had him cornered.

“I wasn't,” Wonwoo says tersely.

“How long are you going to keep this to yourself?” Soonyoung scoffs and shakes his head. “I don’t get it. I really don’t.”

Hot anger burns through his lungs before his brain-to-mouth filter can work. “That’s because you don’t,” Wonwoo says, “Jihoon isn’t leaving you. He’s staying here, _in the same country_. You don’t get it because your boyfriend isn’t moving to fucking China.”

“Junnie isn’t even your boyfriend!” Soonyoung exclaims. Wonwoo grips his armrest and stubbornly keeps his gaze on the blurry trees and people outside. It stings more than it should, and he knows he’s being unreasonable, but he can’t help himself. Soonyoung continues, voice rising higher, “Maybe I would get it if you two weren’t so attached at the hip. Every time I see you looking — _staring_ at him, you have this stupid look on your face like he hung up the moon in the sky. And then you do dumb shit like this, because—what? Because of what?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. He doesn’t _have_ an answer. In the row behind them, Wonwoo hears a baby start to cry, hiccupping and wailing with its entire lung capacity. He heaves a sigh and rubs at the sore spot on his head again.

This ride was going to be unbearably long.

“Can you try and keep it down, please?” the woman sitting in the row behind them loudly raps the back of their seats to get their attention, startling them both into turning around. She’s glaring pointedly at them, nose upturned. “I’m trying to get my baby to sleep,” she says, cradling and rocking her baby.

“Sorry, ma’am,” they apologize, and settle down in their seat, left in a fuming silence.

Wonwoo takes his phone out from his pocket. It’s been radio silence from Junhui since they parted last night. There are no new messages except for Jihoon’s, who’s asking him if Soonyoung has a train ticket because he found one that was left on top of the nightstand in his bedroom.

 _I printed two copies, dwbi,_ Wonwoo quickly texts back. The corners of his lips tug up a little when Jihoon immediately replies, _thank god one of you has a brain_ , but they fall when he feels Soonyoung stop fidgeting beside him and lean forwards.

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung starts quietly, and Wonwoo swallows because it’s never good when Soonyoung goes quiet. Soonyoung’s eyes flicker across Wonwoo’s face, appearing to be searching for some kind of expression on Wonwoo’s face — one that would give him away. Wonwoo refuses to give him anything. Soonyoung sighs and looks him straight in the eye. “Are you in love with him?”

Wonwoo’s rendered speechless, mind blanking for a moment before he quickly recovers.

“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean—”

“ _Don’t_.” Soonyoung fixes him with a glare, but his brows unfurrow as he leans back into his seat. “Just tell me. Are you? With Junhui?”

For all of Soonyoung and Jihoon’s constant teasing, this is the first time Wonwoo can recall Soonyoung asking him outright. Which was honestly quite strange; there’s nothing much that they can keep from each other, and Soonyoung is usually quick to call him out on a potential crush to tease him to the ends of the earth. It speaks volumes when Soonyoung stays quiet about something.

Wonwoo opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He’s never said it out loud before, has never admitted it out loud, has never called it a crush, has never called it anything before. He can’t, he just can’t.

Saying it out loud would make it real, and the universe likes to take what’s real and slap a ticking clock onto it. _What doesn’t exist can’t end_ , is what he keeps telling himself.

He’s starting to believe in that less and less.

So, he doesn’t say anything. Wonwoo leans his forehead back onto the window in resignation and closes his eyes. Beside him, Soonyoung is unzipping something and shuffling around, before pushing something that crinkles noisily against his shoulder. It’s the bag of leftover chips from last night, and Soonyoung is giving him the _look_. The same look he gave Wonwoo when his cat died of old age in the ninth grade and he had broken down for the first time in front of Soonyoung.

He grabs the bag of chips with a weak chuckle, lips quirking up. Of course, he gets it. Soonyoung always knows.

And so, two hours later and twenty minutes before they reach Changwon’s central station, Wonwoo makes up his mind. He shakes Soonyoung awake, who was sleeping with his mouth open and drooling the entire two hours or so. The latter quickly wipes away his mouth when he comes to his senses, at which point Wonwoo gives him a thinly veiled look of disgust.

“What? Are we there?” Soonyoung tries to look past him and outside the window, but Wonwoo pushes him back into his seat.

“No.” The train lurches a bit, and he usually doesn’t get motion sickness, but something is making him feel nauseous and the train is getting the blame first. He grips the armrest for purchase and inhales, trying to calm the queasiness brewing in his stomach.

Wonwoo leans forward with his elbows on his knees and rests his forehead in his hands. He exhales. “I don’t want him to go, Soonyoung,” he breathes out, as quietly as possible, but Soonyoung probably heard it anyways. It takes something out of his chest, and he bares it to the world, universe as witness.

Soonyoung rubs his face up and down, leaving the skin slightly red, and blinks rapidly.

“Then are you going to ask him to stay?”

Wonwoo lets his head falls through his hands as they go limp in his lap. “I _can’t._ ”

“Why?”

He remembers how Junhui’s eyes looked that night. Hasn’t stopped remembering it ever since. The desperation, the determination — he’s unable to distinguish between the two.

“It’s not what he wants,” he says finally. “It would just make it harder for him.”

“But you’re not even giving him a choice,” Soonyoung argues.

“Soonyoung, he’s not going to stay just because I ask him to—”

“But maybe he would,” Soonyoung insists adamantly, and his gaze suddenly unwavering. “I tell you a lot that you look stupid when he’s in the room, but honestly, Junnie’s no better.” His eyes slant upwards. “If you think he hung up the moon, then he probably thinks you hung up the stars.”

Wonwoo lets out a bitter laugh at that.

“What are you trying to say?” Wonwoo stares at Soonyoung, trying to look for… something. Something certain.

“I’m saying wake up and open your goddamn eyes, Wonwoo.” Soonyoung stares back at him with such seriousness that it makes him look away. “You still have two months. It’s way too late to play this game.”

Wonwoo scowls. “I’m not playing a game _._ ”

“It’s too late for you to be pushing him away, or, I don’t know. Hold his hand, and then pretend that neither thing happened or that it doesn’t mean anything?” Soonyoung says. He leans forward again and knocks his knee against Wonwoo’s. “One minute I think you’ve finally made a move, the next minute you leave him alone for a week. You should’ve seen the look on your face when I invited him.”

Wonwoo winces, bag of chips crunching in his grip. “He has Jihoon right now,” he says.

“Jihoon isn’t you _._ ”

He pauses at Soonyoung’s words, feeling his heartbeat rise dangerously.

“Do you not see what’s at stake here?” he asks quietly after a few moments.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course I do,” Soonyoung says, and roughly runs a hand through his bleached, frizzy strands. “God, he’s _leaving_ , Wonwoo.”

“He’s leaving either way.” A hollowness sets in his chest, carving out his insides.

“Maybe. You don’t know that.” Soonyoung pauses, and exhales. His hair is mussed beyond saving at this point. “Shit, man. I don’t want him to go either.”

Hearing it from Soonyoung is terrible and brings in a feeling on the verge of nausea. Junhui didn’t just manage to establish himself in Wonwoo’s life, he has a place in his entire friend circle. Midterm exam grinds weren’t just Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Soonyoung. Neither were their movie nights or Soonyoung’s dance showcases. Everywhere, every time, Junhui is there, without fail. Everywhere he looks, it’s Junhui, Junhui, Junhui.

The train’s automated system announces their station.

Soonyoung slings his bag over his shoulder and Wonwoo follows as the train slows down to a stop. The doors open, and the people on the train start lining up to get off. Soonyoung looks at Wonwoo over his shoulder, and says quietly, “You know, he has a family here too.”

When Wonwoo comes back to campus, the first thing he does is go to the physical sciences building and into the planetarium. Last night, Junhui had texted him—for the first time since the beginning of their break—asking if he wanted to go when he comes back. Wonwoo had readily agreed, and they'd set up a time to meet accordingly.

Right now, there’s no one in the planetarium save for someone who apparently fell asleep in the back rows. He almost calls out Junhui’s name until he makes out the person’s closed eyelids and long ponytail. Definitely not Junhui; the man sleeps with his eyes open, much to Wonwoo’s amusement.

Wonwoo takes a seat next to the entrance in the dim lighting of the backlit seats, briefly wondering if Junhui was coming late, before thinking against it. He pulls out his phone to text him, asking him where he is. If anything, Junhui is constantly on his case for not coming to class on time, which he never bothered with since Professor Yang always started lecturing at least five minutes late. There was never a concern about missing out on a good seat either, because Junhui always saved him one near the front so Wonwoo could see better.

 _You need to get new glasses,_ Junhui had reminded him, three months ago. He still hasn’t gotten around to that yet.

Ten minutes later, and Wonwoo is getting more concerned by the second. He swipes his thumb down the phone screen to refresh his notifications for what feels like the hundredth time. Junhui is rarely ever late. Did Junhui forget they were meeting today? His last message still hasn’t even been read yet. He presses the call button, even though he rarely ever calls anyone, and waits for an answer. It goes straight to voicemail, meaning Junhui either turned off his phone or he forgot to charge it and it died. 

Instead, Wonwoo texts Jihoon, _Where’s Jun? He’s not picking up._

Two minutes pass and Jihoon texts back, _He’s dead asleep, running a high fever._ The chat bubble appears, then disappears, and then reappears as if he’s debating something. _Just come over_ , Jihoon finally replies.

Wonwoo makes a beeline for the exit, banging his knee on one of the seats and startling the girl awake. He mutters a quick apology and leaves the building, heart racing and thumping in his chest, running towards the Chinese restaurant nearby Jihoon’s apartment to get congee as takeout. Lord knows he can’t cook to save a life and he’d rather not poison someone with an already compromised immune system.

He is genuinely worried for Junhui. He had constantly bragged to Wonwoo how he never got sick, and that he couldn’t remember the last time he ran a fever or threw up. He’d tell this to Wonwoo while patting Wonwoo’s back during a particularly bad coughing fit, because Wonwoo got sick all the time, or while Wonwoo is hunched over the toilet from drinking. This time though, Wonwoo guesses that Junhui must have been stressed enough to weaken his immune system and probably induce a fever. His jaw clenches at the thought. He has a pretty good idea of what might have caused that.

Jihoon swings open the door after the first knock, and eyes the plastic takeout bag in Wonwoo’s hand.

“That was quick.”

“Where is he?” Wonwoo hangs up his coat and chucks his shoes off at the same time. Jihoon jerks his head over his shoulder, and Wonwoo sees a tuft of brown hair peeking over the couch armrest. He carefully sets the takeout down onto the wobbly coffee table and kneels beside him.

Junhui barely fits on the couch, but he’s managed to curl his six-foot frame into a ball, knees tucked up against his chest, hands clutching at the edges of the blankets. A socked foot is poking out from under the blanket, and Wonwoo reaches over to carefully tuck it in. Beads of sweat gather at his hairline, and when one trails down his forehead towards his eyebrows, Wonwoo gently flicks it away before it gets into Junhui’s eye. His forehead is still warm and damp against his fingers.

“Dumbass,” Wonwoo tells Junhui’s sleeping form. He brushes back a few errant strands of hair off his forehead, succeeding on the first try because of his sweat.

“He slept over yesterday and woke up today with a 38.5-degree fever.” Jihoon shakes his head disapprovingly. “I got him to take the fever meds a while ago, but they’re the drowsy kind and he just passed out.”

“That’s really high,” Wonwoo says, alarmed.

Jihoon snorts. “No kidding. And this kid here still thinks he’s invincible.” He turns around and heads towards his room. “Well, since you’re here, I’m leaving now.”

“What? Why?” he asks.

“Need to go to the studio, I’m already late.” Jihoon calls back from his bedroom. He comes back out quickly, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder and pulling a baseball cap over his head. On his way out, Jihoon pauses in his steps, and raises an eyebrow at Wonwoo. “If you get sick after this, I’ll know why.”

“Fuck you.”

Jihoon throws a crooked smile at him in response before he’s out the door, and Wonwoo’s left alone with a passed out Junhui — or not. Wonwoo looks closer. The afternoon sunlight filters in through Jihoon’s blinds in stripes of golden yellow, streaking across the high nose bridge and flushed cheeks onto the old, worn couch. Junhui has his eyes fully closed now, eyelashes fluttering nervously every so often, and his breathing rate is no longer as slow as before.

“Junnie,” Wonwoo says. Junhui’s eyelids twitch, and Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I know you’re awake, stop pretending.” This time, the corners of Junhui’s lips quirk up minutely. He immediately tries to fix it but overshoots and makes a tiny frown instead.

Wonwoo rises to his feet with his knees protesting, cracking like popcorn, and announces, “I’m eating all of your jelly snacks.”

Junhui’s eyes fly open and a hand shoots out to grip Wonwoo’s sleeve. “I’m awake!” He groans from the sudden movement, then brings his hands up to hold the sides of his head. Wonwoo immediately kneels down again and lays a hand flat across his forehead.

“What hurts?”

“Don’t eat it without me,” Junhui croaks out, voice rougher and lower than usual. Wonwoo snickers and assures him that he wouldn’t. Junhui presses his palms against his eyes and rubs harshly, but Wonwoo catches his hands and tugs them away from his face before he can make his eyes even puffier. “How was Changwon?” he murmurs, still clouded with sleep.

Wonwoo exhales exasperatedly. “You have a _fever_ right now. I can tell you about it later.”

“It’s not like I’m actually sick.” Junhui pulls a face but withers a little when Wonwoo fixes him with a glare. He unfurls himself from his fetal position, stretching his legs out so that his feet dangle over the couch.

“Move over,” Wonwoo nudges him, and Junhui shuffles to press his back against the couch and make space for Wonwoo in front of his torso. Wonwoo reaches for the cloth lying on the coffee table and starts wiping his forehead and neck, hairline drenched with sweat, all while trying his best to ignore some ridiculously ill-timed intruding thoughts. Under his arm, Wonwoo glimpses Junhui closing his eyes and relax under his touch.

“Don’t you want to take the blankets off?” Wonwoo asks, furrowing his brows at the amount heat he feels radiating from where Junhui is pressed against his back. Junhui nods weakly.

“Is that congee on the table?” Junhui looks at him hopefully, eyes sparkling under the still puffy eyelids. Wonwoo chuckles, he didn’t even get the chance to take the congee out of the plastic bag yet.

“Mhm.” Wonwoo throws the cloth back onto the table to help Junhui peel off the blankets he cocooned himself in. “Picked it up from that place you like around here.”

Junhui hums in approval. “I taught you well.”

“I’m bound to pick up something after you dragged me to twenty-something restaurants,” Wonwoo says. He folds the blankets haphazardly at the foot of the couch and reaches over to get the congee out. The Styrofoam cup burns his fingers slightly, so he wraps the bottom with the extra tissue that the restaurant gave, and pops open the lid to let the heat dissipate.

“Are you planning on feeding me?”

Wonwoo pauses, just about to pick up the plastic spoon inside the bag. He then abruptly sets down the bowl, its contents almost spilling past the brim.

“No,” Wonwoo says, a little harsher than he means to. 

Junhui pouts, and Wonwoo immediately looks in the other direction. “But I’m sick.”

Swivelling around to glare at him disbelievingly, Wonwoo reaches back and flicks Junhui’s forehead. “You just told me you’re not actually sick. Which one’s the lie?”

To his chagrin, Junhui ignores him. He chews his bottom lip in thought, then sits up and opens his mouth expectantly. “Ahhhh.”

Wonwoo clamps his hand over Junhui’s mouth and pushes him back down. “Eat it yourself,” he says, in a last-ditch attempt to escape. He feels something wet flick against his palm and jerks his hand back in time to see Junhui with a smug grin on his face. “God, you’re gross. Don’t _lick my hand_ when you’re sick!” He wipes his hand over Junhui’s shirt.

Undeterred, Junhui breaks into a wide, triumphant smile and sits back up again. “You just admitted it! Now, feed me. I’m a sick person, you said so.” He reaches over to the coffee table and shoves the spoon into Wonwoo’s hand.

“Sick people shouldn’t have this much energy,” Wonwoo mutters, carefully picking up the bowl of congee again, only to set it down mere seconds later when he feels dead weight drop onto his shoulder and hears a groan next to his ear. He turns his head slightly to see Junhui resting his forehead on Wonwoo’s shoulder with his eyes screwed shut and eyebrows scrunched up in pain. It makes his heart rate spike up with concern, and he gently lifts Junhui’s head to massage his temples, trying to soothe and will away the pain. “Hey, hey. Junnie. What’s wrong?”

Junhui’s head falls through his hands, now resting on the juncture of Wonwoo’s collarbone and neck. His hair is matted against his forehead now, and Wonwoo sighs. He rests his chin on Junhui’s head lightly, locks of hair pressed up against his neck. Exactly how stressed did Junhui have to be to get to this state?

“Hot,” Junhui murmurs. “Headache. Sleepy. Hungry.”

Wonwoo feels his forehead again. “Your fever’s gone down a bit. It’s good that you’re sweating this much.” He nudges Junhui slightly so that he gets off his shoulder. “I’ll feed you, come on.”

After he gulps down whatever embarrassment held him back at first, he establishes a sort of rhythm. Junhui obediently and sleepily opens his mouth with every spoonful of congee, eyes closed half the time with his cheeks flushed and forehead sweaty. When the bowl’s contents disappear, Junhui leans back onto Wonwoo and murmurs a thanks.

It’s as Soonyoung said. The closeness, the distance — they’re not supposed to mean anything at all, and they keep it that way like a boundary not meant to be crossed. He’ll lose himself like this and then pretend it means nothing.

Except they do, they _do_ , Wonwoo thinks. The empty congee bowl, the folded blankets, the cloth, the boy on his shoulder. His throat constricts when he suddenly sees himself sitting in Jihoon’s apartment two months from now, on an empty couch, no more weight on his shoulder, only three people inside this apartment, and this time they’re not waiting for anyone to come home.

“My mom used to feed me and Fengjun congee whenever we got sick,” Junhui says from under Wonwoo’s chin. His lips brush softly against his collarbone with every word he utters, and Wonwoo stills. Every muscle in his body is taut. His nails dig into his palms, but it hardly registers as his world dwindles down to the one contact point at his neck. “Homemade congee. Restaurant food doesn’t even come close.”

“Who was the one who said they never get sick?” Wonwoo shifts so Junhui’s head sits more comfortably on his shoulder.

“Mhm, still me,” Junhui points to himself with his eyes closed and then pokes Wonwoo’s chest. He exhales, slow and quiet. Wistful. “It’s been a really long time since I’ve had her congee.”

“I’ll make congee for you,” Wonwoo says rather pointlessly, but he’s grasping at straws. Maybe ask Mingyu or Seokmin for help so he doesn’t accidentally give him indigestion.

“You really don’t have to, I know you can’t cook,” Junhui giggles. “But thank you.” He smiles, droopy-eyed, cheeks stained a lovely pink.

Wonwoo hums in response as they settle into silence. The vent rattles every so often, a steady beat to the sound of his own breath and the soft exhales against his skin.

“Wonwoo,” his voice reaches Wonwoo’s ears, just barely. It’s so quiet Wonwoo thinks he might have imagined it. “Am I pathetic?”

Wonwoo sucks in a breath, fists clenching in his lap. An unbearable sadness and a hint of anger twists in his chest. The unveiled ache in his voice, the uncertainty in his words — he doesn’t want Junhui to sound like this ever again.

“No,” Wonwoo breathes out, immediately, almost on reflex. Because he isn’t. Wonwoo thinks he’s the furthest from being pathetic — if anything, _he’s_ the most pathetic one here. _He’s_ the coward. “No, you’re not.”

Junhui laughs quietly, painfully, breath fanning across Wonwoo’s neck in light puffs of air.

“You’re not pathetic,” Wonwoo repeats firmly, when he doesn’t get a reply.

“Running back to a family that doesn’t want you anymore… that doesn’t sound pathetic to you?” He shakes his head against Wonwoo’s shoulder. “Even I know it is. Liar.”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

Junhui goes silent, before lifting his head off of Wonwoo. Wonwoo meets his eyes, determined to convey to him that he truly means it. He doesn’t think Junhui is pathetic at all. He thinks Junhui is unbelievably brave, enough to leave his home and study in an entirely different country, speaking an entirely different language. All with sheer determination to prove his family wrong and to prove his worth. Wonwoo just wishes that he would realize that he doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone.

“No, you haven’t,” Junhui agrees. He looks down at his lap and smiles a little, but Wonwoo can see that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Junhui leans back and falls onto the couch on his side, staring past Wonwoo to the coffee table. “I think I’m gonna sleep.” He shuts his eyes tightly, fists clenching over the hem of his sweater.

Wonwoo slides off the couch and kneels on the carpet to face Junhui at eye-level, desperation flooding through his veins and clamming up his fingers. “You learned a third language and moved to a different country by yourself. _By yourself_. You work hard every single day even though you’re already smart. Junnie, you’re not pathetic. You’re the furthest thing from it. No matter what you do, the way you are, I _know_ you’ll be alright. If you want to go back and take over your dad’s company, I can’t stop you, but—”

“You can’t or won’t?” Junhui interrupts, voice wobbling, now looking at Wonwoo in the eyes. Wonwoo freezes, animal cornered in a cage, heart palpitating against his throat as it dawns on him what Junhui is asking. Junhui holds his gaze with red-rimmed eyes.

It only truly strikes him then, as he’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, kneeling in front of Junhui like he’s begging for mercy, that he’s been given chances all this time, even before now. The countless trips to the planetarium. After midterms, during movie night. Walking him back to his place. Hell, the first time they met in astronomy, when Junhui, speaking an impressively fast and fluent Korean, introduced himself as the guy on exchange from China and Wonwoo couldn’t stop staring at him. He hasn’t stopped looking at him since.

Wonwoo’s finger twitches, itching to do something about Junhui's watery eyes. He grips his knees instead. “I want you to achieve your dreams,” Wonwoo says, voice strained. “You deserve whatever it is that you want.”

He watches on as Junhui opens his mouth, ready to respond, then promptly closes it, chewing on his bottom lip. He wipes furiously at his eyes and blinks rapidly. His hands reach down to grab at the nonexistent blankets. When he realizes they turn up empty, he sits up to get the folded blankets at the other end of the couch and crawls under them, gripping it tightly under his chin. It’s much too hot for them, and Wonwoo has half the mind to pull it away, but Junhui is holding onto it like it’s a shield, withdrawing on himself.

“Thank you,” he whispers, looking far too small for a tall, broad-shouldered man. Wonwoo’s heart sinks.

It’s late afternoon. A saturated orange glow slips through the blinds, streaking across the room in blurred lines and soft brushstrokes. The sun is setting, about to dive under the horizon, only it’s cloudy by the time Junhui falls asleep again and Wonwoo leaves Jihoon’s apartment, clutching the empty plastic takeout bag in his right hand. He looks down at it, not sure why he even took it in the first place. On the way out, he had passed by plenty of places where he could have thrown it out, but he grips onto it, just to bring something back with him as he left. He couldn’t leave more empty-handed than he already was.

_He probably thinks you hung up the stars._

It’s this feeling: the universe, after ruling with an iron fist for so long, suddenly thrusts the wheel into your hands. It hands you a star, expecting you to put it up somewhere, anywhere you want. It’s unbelievably heavy. Your fingers can’t hold it up much longer, and the skin of your palms start to burn. So, you give it back. You let it go, because the emptiness in your hands is all you’ve ever known.

“What do you _mean_ you’re not coming tonight?”

His reflection in the black coffee swirling in his cup is tiring to look at. At this moment, he wishes he were staring into a black hole instead. 

“I’m busy,” Wonwoo says. He uncrosses his legs, accidentally bumping into their table and his coffee sloshes over the rim, narrowly missing his phone. His reflection distorts in the ripples.

“Bullshit,” Soonyoung hisses. “I know your schedule. You just finished defending your thesis two days ago; you’re done being busy. You can’t not go, it’s _Junnie’s_ going-away party.”

Wonwoo takes a napkin and wipes distractedly at the spilled coffee, scrubbing at the same spot even after the stains are gone, until Soonyoung forcibly snatches it from his hand and throws it into the nearest trashcan.

“What the hell happened between you two?” Jihoon says, eyeing him from his side. 

The last time he visited the planetarium was the Thursday afternoon after Junhui had gotten sick. He had gone back to the planetarium, although he didn’t really have a reason to. A habit. At 3:30 pm, his feet had carried him out of his last lecture of the day and towards the planetarium, just because it felt wrong to walk in the other direction. When he finally got there, he was met by a supervisor outside the door and a group of people mingling near the entrance, slowly trickling into the space.

“Astronomy 3B?” the older woman had asked, when Wonwoo had abruptly stopped in front of the door. The rest of the group had already gone in; there must have been a seminar booked for the third-year class. Nearly all the seats were filled, and the planetarium was filled with quiet chatters and murmurs. It was unsettling and foreign, not a trace of what it used to be at 3:30 pm. It was… ordinary. Normal.

Time didn’t stop for anyone in there, not anymore. 

Wonwoo had backtracked and left soon after that. Junhui was nowhere to be seen. Later on, Junhui had texted him, apologizing for not going and that he was too swamped with work to continue. So, Wonwoo hasn’t gone back to the planetarium since that astronomy seminar had taken over Thursday afternoon. As a result, his weeks seemed to fly by without it, and before he could have fully processed things, his thesis had taken over his entire existence and finals were almost over already.

He supposes that’s one of the good things about being completely overwhelmed by university — he hasn’t had time to slow down and _think._

Now he’s sandwiched between Soonyoung and Jihoon inside a coffee shop full of sleep-deprived students, including himself, having a conversation he’d rather not be having.

“Nothing happened.” Wonwoo fiddles with the cup sleeve, twisting it around the coffee cup, ignoring Soonyoung’s irritated groan at his predictable response. It slips off, and the heat immediately warms his fingers, too quickly to be comfortable. He doesn’t jerk his fingers away.

“Helpful,” Jihoon deadpans.

It wasn’t as if they stopped seeing each other. The four of them still hung out together, but every time the two of them were alone, any exchanges they had were almost _too_ lighthearted and slightly forced. When silence fell, talking about academia proved to be a great buffer and it’s become a crutch for their conversations.

Wonwoo knows how to act politely and be courteous with strangers. But politeness with Junhui is different — politeness is an obstruction in their space. It’s uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and painful. Wonwoo doesn’t know if it’s for better or for worse in the long run, but he knows that right now, he feels like absolute shit.

“Just come, please,” Soonyoung kicks him under the table. “Whatever it is, you can work it out. Come on, this is Junnie we’re talking about here. He probably forgave you already. Besides, everyone is going, it would be too weird if you didn’t.”

He looks at Soonyoung tiredly. “Isn’t it easier this way?”

Beside him, Jihoon shakes his head after chugging his third espresso. “Don’t. You can’t leave things like this.” He adds, “You know that.”

It would be infinitely easier to leave things like this, he thinks. Soonyoung and Jihoon’s gazes drilling into his head, waiting expectantly for an answer. Then, he suddenly remembers that Junhui doesn’t drink, and there will certainly be drinking at this party. Wonwoo runs a hand through his fringe messily. If anything, he’ll just go so Junhui isn’t the only one sober. He doesn’t mind drinking, but Junhui has never liked alcohol. God, he’s going to regret this later.

“Fine,” Wonwoo gives in warily.

“I’ll text you Seokmin’s address.” Soonyoung immediately whips out his phone. Wonwoo’s phone buzzes in his pocket when he receives the text.

“Seokmin’s hosting?”

“And Mingyu and Minghao,” Soonyoung says. He looks at Wonwoo with a shit-eating grin. “I knew you’d cave. Didn’t want to leave him sober alone, huh?”

Wonwoo folds the discarded cup sleeve in half and chucks it at Soonyoung’s head before downing the rest of his coffee to hide his face.

Minghao, Mingyu, and Seokmin’s shared flat is filled with people when Wonwoo arrives. A little late, but at least he’s here. He sees Seokmin, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung near the kitchen table playing beer pong. Mingyu is running around trying to prevent the food from falling victim to their limbs. Hansol and Jihoon are huddled together over the kitchen counter, fiddling with the Bluetooth speaker that’s currently blasting a low bass beat — no doubt curated by Jihoon himself. Seungcheol is sandwiched on the couch between Jeonghan and Jisoo with Chan sitting on the floor next to them. A quick scan around the room tells him Junhui hasn’t arrived yet, and neither has Minghao.

“Wonwoo!” Seungcheol calls, beckoning him over.

Wonwoo pats Chan’s head as he carefully steps over his legs, making his way to the couch. A karaoke track is queuing up on the TV screen. He nods at Jeonghan and Jisoo in greeting.

“I haven’t seen you since our seminar together,” Wonwoo says. “What happened to our PUBG tournament?” The two of them, having no gamer friends, naturally always teamed up with each other to destress and accidentally pull all-nighters, but he’d recently been offline for a long while.

“Ah, yeah, sorry about that.” Seungcheol rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ve been really busy, job interviews and stuff. Adulting is not fun.” He looks around, searching, a can of beer grasped in his right hand. “Where’s the man of the hour, by the way?”

Wonwoo feels his lips twitch down. “I haven’t seen him today.”

“Oh.” Seungcheol parts his lips to say something, then closes it. His eyebrows raise slightly. “Everything okay?”

Before Wonwoo can answer, the front door swings open. Minghao steps in with Junhui in tow, carrying a crate of alcohol and two bottles of wine.

“Vodka and Junhui,” Minghao announces, locking the front door behind him.

“Junnie!” A chorus of cheers erupts when he enters. Seokmin leaves his beer pong game and runs over to throw his arms around Junhui’s neck, beaming, then helps take his hands off the drinks.

Junhui laughs brightly, returning the hug enthusiastically. “You’re all here!” He runs around the flat, embracing as many people as he can, being extra careful not to topple over anyone’s open drink. Wonwoo is rooted to the floor, staring at him in utter shock. Any coherent thought has since flown out of his head.

The light chestnut-colored hair that Junhui’s had since they first met—the only hair color he’s ever really seen him in—is all gone. Instead, he’s looking at tousled, dark, black hair. It looks… _good_.

God, he looks _really_ good.

Wonwoo swallows when Junhui makes his way over to the couch to greet them.

“Hi,” Junhui says. With lighter hair, Junhui had looked softer, pretty. More innocent. The black hair, though. Somehow, it makes his jaws appear even more defined and his eyes even darker, more alluring, more—

Wonwoo can’t stop staring. “Uh, your hair…?” he says intelligently.

Junhui flushes and ducks his head in complete contrast to his appearance, combing one hand through the dark strands. “Oh, yeah. Minghao helped me dye it back today. I figured, you know, I’m going back to see my parents soon and, well, they’ve never really liked that I dyed it brown in the first place. So, I figured, you know, why not?” he rambles, fumbling with the ends of his sleeves.

“It’s good,” Wonwoo says quickly to assure him, then curses himself for his limited vocabulary. “It really suits you,” he manages to follow up, words crawling their way out of his mouth.

Junhui smiles shyly, and Wonwoo averts his eyes when he holds eye contact for a second too long. Somebody has pressed play and the karaoke track is blasting in the background on top of Jihoon’s beat, but everything has long faded into the background in the wake of his tunnel vision.

“I’m happy you came,” he says.

Wonwoo nods, feeling a stab of guilt at the sincerity in his words. “Me too.”

Back in the kitchen, Mingyu calls for Junhui.

“I’m—,” Junhui points in Mingyu’s direction. “I’m gonna go.”

“Yeah—go ahead.” Wonwoo quickly nods again, quirking his lips into a smile the best he can. “I’ll see you later.”

Junhui greets Jeonghan, Jisoo, and Seungcheol on the couch before lightly jogging back to the kitchen. When Wonwoo finally turns his attention back to the three on the couch, he’s met with three different stares.

Jeonghan’s eyebrows are raised delicately, a dangerously inquisitive look on his face. He leans back on the couch with his arm crossed, head tilted to the side. At the same time, Wonwoo feels dread creep into the pit of his stomach.

“So, Wonwoo,” Jeonghan starts, tone lilting. “What was that?”

Jisoo subtly pinches Jeonghan but gives Wonwoo a sympathetic smile, the corners of his mouth curving up gently.

“Nothing,” Wonwoo replies, for the second time in one day.

Jeonghan purses his lips and thinks for a moment. “Ahhh,” he says, tilting his chin upwards before turning to Jisoo. “This is the whole mating dance thing that you were talking—” Jisoo abruptly digs his elbow into Jeonghan’s ribcage, a lot less subtle this time, laughing awkwardly while holding Jeonghan’s wrist in an iron grip.

“…Mating dance?” Wonwoo repeats slowly, flatly.

Jisoo opens his mouth, then sighs, smiling apologetically.

Seungcheol sets his beer down on the coffee table, shooting the two of them a disapproving glare before looking back at Wonwoo with a sigh. “What they mean,” he says carefully, “is that you guys have been acting really weird lately and we’re just a little worried.”

“A weird energy,” Jeonghan supplies helpfully.

“Thanks, but it’s fine.” Wonwoo reaches up to fix his sweater collar, feeling an itching need to keep his hands occupied. He says, “I’m just sad that he’s leaving soon.”

Seungcheol nods in agreement but still looks unconvinced, shooting a look at Jeonghan. 

Jisoo grimaces, releasing Jeonghan from his hold after getting his arm pinched repeatedly. “Yeah, it’s really unfortunate. Everyone loves him here.” He glances at the kitchen area with a fond expression, and Wonwoo follows his gaze.

Junhui is helping Mingyu with the boxes of pizza. He looks so at _home_. With the way he moves around the kitchen, grabbing ranch sauce from the fridge and pepper from the cupboards, wiping away crumbs on the counter, it’s as if he lives here. Junhui turns around and bumps into Mingyu, who yelps and one of the boxes almost flies out of his hands. Wonwoo chuckles at the sight. The sense of familiarity with everyone in the room, the looks they give him and the way he looks back at them... he belongs here, through and through. 

As if sensing someone watching him, Junhui looks up from pouring the sauce on his plate. He blinks and waves when they make eye contact across the room, breaking out into a tiny grin. Wonwoo smiles before he realizes it.

A hand rests on his shoulder, snapping him out of his stupor. Jeonghan stands up and leans close to his ear.

“Someone’s got it bad,” he sings under his breath. He pulls back, patting Wonwoo’s shoulder twice. He turns on his heels, calling over his shoulder, “I’m getting us vodka.”

Wonwoo almost tells him to get one for him too.

The party is a great temporary distraction. The night carries on and they celebrate the end of their university careers with obnoxious karaoke singing, abandoning the mics after they eventually run out of battery. Half of them are crammed into the living room space and a few others are sitting on the kitchen counter and dining table, belting out emotional ballads and decade-old, nostalgic songs with fake operatic voices. Wonwoo clutches his sides laughing, almost knocking heads with Chan, who’s cackling at his side, as they watch Seungkwan and Seokmin jump up to sing and dance exaggeratedly to Wonder Girls. There isn’t a single person in the room who’s still upright by the end of their drunken dancing.

Junhui throws himself in the thick of it despite being fully sober and somehow matches their absurdity. He manages to drag Hansol into it, and the boy breaks his composure completely to sing in a ridiculously shrill voice, which cracks several times and betrays his deep baritone. High-pitched laughter and giggles pierce through the synth and bass, sitting high above their singing voices.

“To Junnie, my best friend, you are so wonderful and so great, and please, please don’t forget me when you’re a rich CEO.” Mingyu holds up a can of vodka while stumbling a little. He downs half of it, bellowing, “I’ll miss you, Moon Junhwi!”

Wonwoo winces a little at the volume. Is Mingyu crying? He's definitely about to cry. 

“The hell, Kim Mingyu, you’re not his best friend.” Minghao frowns, slinging his arm around Junhui’s shoulders suddenly, making him almost drop his coke. A glass of wine dangles precariously in the hand that’s over Junhui’s shoulder. “Junhui, call me often, okay? I don’t think I can take it if I have to call _Mingyu_ my best friend after you’re gone.”

Mingyu sputters, opening his mouth to protest but nothing coherent comes out, so Junhui throws his arms around both of them, laughing loudly.

“I’ll call everyone, okay? I won’t forget you guys, I promise,” Junhui says, eyes twinkling.

“Better not, or I’m chasing you all the way back here,” Jeonghan calls. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, Soonyoung at his shoulder and Seokmin passed out on his lap. 

Soonyoung shoves at Jeonghan’s shoulder for no reason, loses his balance, and slumps over onto Jeonghan's other leg. He nearly crushes Seokmin's head. “I’m going anyways, he can’t stop me," he mumbles. 

Junhui’s smile lights up the room. It’s the brightest thing Wonwoo’s ever seen, and like a moth drawn to flame, he’s all Wonwoo sees for the rest of the night. He can’t stay away from him no matter how hard he tries. He’ll avert his gaze, but he will still hear Junhui’s voice in the midst of eleven others. He’s already left their little dingy sanctuary behind, only to walk into a cloudy night almost every day— into another planetarium that hasn’t projected its stars yet. He finds that he keeps waiting for Junhui to flip the switch and split open the skies.

It’s nearly three in the morning when they all finally start dropping like flies, either passing out in different corners of the room or falling dead asleep on the couch right on top of each other. Minghao, Mingyu, Soonyoung, and Jihoon promise Junhui that they’ll be at the airport waiting for him until he leaves, and the rest of them had promised to help Junhui pack the night before, even though he certainly doesn’t need that many people.

It’s just him and Junhui awake when he leaves the bathroom after washing his face. Junhui’s sitting against the wall, legs out in front of him, overlooking the eleven people in the living room asleep on the floor. There’s an achingly tender and gentle look on his face. Wonwoo pauses in his steps, unwilling to disturb him, but Junhui hears him and lifts his head.

“Hey,” he whispers, careful not to talk loudly in case he wakes someone up.

Making up his mind, Wonwoo moves to sit next to him and crosses his legs, keeping a respectful distance between them.

“I’m exhausted,” Wonwoo sighs up at the ceiling.

Junhui chuckles softly. “I didn’t see you drink tonight.”

“Ah—well… I just didn’t want to leave you alone to deal with this mess.” Wonwoo gestures to the strewn bodies. “Our friends are drunkards.”

Junhui parts his lips slightly, small smile growing on his face. “You stayed sober because of me?” he asks.

“It’s your party,” Wonwoo says after a few beats. “You shouldn’t be left to take care of twelve other people.”

“Thanks, Wonwoo.” He looks down at the hem of his shirt, reaching for it at first but then tucks his hands back into his pockets.

Wonwoo leans back and looks back up at the popcorn ceiling. There’s a large stain just above them that vaguely looks like paint. Probably something that either Minghao or Mingyu did. They should have a fun time explaining that to their landlord.

He’s feeling fatigue deep in his bones after the whole night, and his throat feels slightly sore from the karaoke. His energy is used up. He’s tired. So, so tired. Most of all, he’s tired of always running away, tired of turning in the other direction when all he wants right now is to face him. 

“Tomorrow, I’ll come with you to the airport,” he says finally, impulsively deciding on the spot. He shifts closer to Junhui, and his kneecap touches his thigh.

Junhui stirs beside him. “You will?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo says. He elaborates, “I’ll ride the taxi with you. Help you get your stuff ready and find your gate.” Junhui has no more than two suitcases and possibly one carry-on bag, but he relents, nonetheless.

He’ll let it hurt, Wonwoo decides.

He’ll let Junhui leave an empty space in his chest, because it’s a privilege to be mended and broken by Wen Junhui, to have seen both vibrant colors and shades of grey. He can’t find it in himself to care anymore. He’ll let Junhui explode all over his life, brilliantly and spectacularly, just like he said he would, because despite everything, Junhui is still the star that Wonwoo hopelessly gravitates towards. 

_Just this last time,_ he thinks, and leans his head on Junhui’s shoulder. He feels Junhui stiffen and relax under him, eventually feeling a weight rest on the top of his head.

“Thank you,” Junhui murmurs into his hair, and the warmth spreads down to his toes.

“You keep thanking me,” Wonwoo says. He closes his eyes, committing to memory the feeling of the broad shoulder supporting his head and the lips in his hair. The quiet darkness envelops them like an intimate blanket. “I should be the one thanking you.”

He hears soft snores above him. Junhui’s out like a light.

Well, it is three in the morning now. His own eyelids are growing heavier by the second. He takes off his glasses carefully, keeping his actions to a minimum in effort to not wake Junhui, and tucks them into the front of his shirt. He’s definitely going to end up with a stiff neck when he wakes up tomorrow.

Yeah, this is alright. The universe can let him have one more day like this.

Wonwoo heaves the last suitcase up onto his knee before shoving it into the back of the taxi’s trunk. It’s eight in the morning, which is normally far too early to be awake on a weekend, but he had woken up as soon as possible. There’s not much time left, more so because Junhui insisted on getting to the airport at least three hours ahead of his flight.

Junhui helps him slam the trunk, and they both make their way around to the doors, when Junhui stops to stare up at the apartment building. Wonwoo allows himself a moment of nostalgia to sweep his gaze over at the complex one last time, before climbing into the backseat. Now, in the early morning, everything is illuminated in a different kind of sunlight. It’s a paler, gentler glow than a sunset, and it brings out colors that he’s never seen before on this street.

Junhui slides in right after him and closes the door. Their legs take up nearly all the space at the back of the small cab.

“Incheon International Airport,” he says to the driver uncle, and the car peels out of the parking spot. They’d arrive in around forty minutes if traffic conditions were good, and they had left early enough to somewhat avoid the jam in the morning.

The cab driver turns on the radio, playing a popular ballad at a volume just enough to mask the engines. Wonwoo watches the buildings pass by in a palette of grays, blues, and browns from the cab window.

Ten minutes into the drive, something pokes his shoulder.

“Wonwoo-yah,” Junhui calls. 

“Mhm?”

“I got you something.”

Wonwoo looks at him, bewildered. “For me?” He furrows his brows, not comprehending. “Why?”

Junhui doesn’t answer him. Instead, he rummages about inside his backpack, tossing a cardigan onto Wonwoo’s lap, and brings out a white cardboard box that’s slightly bigger than the size of a soccer ball.

“I don’t really have wrapping paper, so I just…” Junhui trails off. “Well, here.” He quickly shoves the box into Wonwoo’s hands and takes the cardigan back.

Wonwoo carefully turns the box right-side up to see the label.

“Star… projector?” Wonwoo reads. He scans the rest of it quickly, eyes falling on the picture of a sphere propped up onto a stand, shining a galaxy onto the bedroom roof. “You got me a projector,” he states, mind suddenly blank, trying and failing to process the sudden rush of emotions that floods his chest.

Beside him, Junhui squirms a little in his seat.

“A going-away gift, or something like that,” he says, tugging his sleeves over his hands and wringing his fingers together on his lap nervously.

Wonwoo holds the box in his lap like it’s delicate porcelain. “Don’t you think,” he begins, “I’m the one that’s supposed to give you something instead?”

Junhui shakes his head vigorously, waving his hands in front of him. “No no no, you didn’t have to. I just wanted to get you something,” he explains quickly, the tips of his ears growing red. 

He’s holding a _star projector_ in his hands. Junhui probably bought it from the kids’ section, for children who still need nightlights to sleep or are are scared of the dark. He imagines him browsing through the aisles and getting distracted looking at other things on the shelf. Wonwoo thumbs the seams of the box, gripping it close to his stomach, unable to contain the grin. 

“You’re weird, you know?” Wonwoo muses affectionately. He can’t wrap his head around the entire situation. Why is _he_ the one getting a going-away present?

He thinks of the weeks they’ve stopped going to the planetarium, their little safe haven, and how he’s holding it in his hands, sitting in a cab.

Junhui shrugs sheepishly, cheeks rounded as his lips quirk up.

What an enigma. 

“Jisoo bought one for himself and showed it to me a week ago, and I thought it was really cool and I thought you’d probably like it a lot,” Junhui starts rambling next to him, “Do you like it? I don’t really know what I—”

“I love it,” Wonwoo interrupts. Junhui is still fidgeting in his seat, nervously looking at the backpack between his legs, the front flap now sunken in without the box inside to prop it up. “Really, I do.”

The sun, peeking through the clouds and reaching through the window, caresses Junhui’s black hair, painting in shades of copper and gold. Looking past him, the trees, the cars, the streetlamps, the buildings, the people — everything rushes past the window in an indiscernible blur, a fleeting image, and it’s all moving too fast.

The world is always passing him by like that, time stopping for no one.

But then his vision shifts its focus back to Junhui — Junhui, who is now smiling, looking a little embarrassed with a slightly averted gaze, wearing flushed cheeks — and maybe time has made an exception for them. It’s their Thursday afternoons all over again. The box jostles on his legs as the car goes over a bump and the projector inside rattles in his hands, reminding him of its presence.

The world can pass him by for all he cares. He’s just a passenger in a car, but the cab driver isn’t some immovable pawn of the universe. He’ll listen and go wherever Wonwoo tells him to go. Wonwoo is holding the stars in his hands, and he thinks, there is no point in a spectacular end if Junhui doesn’t know just how spectacular it is.

“Sir.” Wonwoo leans forward from behind the driver to get the man’s attention. “I’m sorry, but can you please turn around?” 

Junhui reaches over to anxiously tug on his sleeve. “Wonwoo, what are you doing?”

The uncle eyes them both through the rear-view mirror, looking mildly annoyed. “Changing destinations?” he asks.

“To the university campus.” Wonwoo affirms, ignoring the tone and Junhui’s ministrations beside him. “I’ll guide you through the buildings once you reach the main entrance.”

The man shrugs and nods. Wonwoo thanks him.

"Why are we going back to campus?" Junhui looks out the window in confusion and panic as the driver U-turns at the next intersection. “Did we forget something? I thought we checked everything last night.”

“You won’t be late, we left early for a reason,” Wonwoo assures him.

“What if there’s a problem, or the lines are really long? I’m going to miss my flight — _Wonwoo_ , are you listening to me?”

“Just trust me.” Wonwoo puts his hand on Junhui’s knee. He stills immediately and stares at him in silence, searching his face, but Wonwoo doesn’t waver this time.

He’s not exactly sure what he’s planning to do yet. But he does know that he’s not going to let Junhui leave without going to the planetarium again.

A beat later, Junhui relents. “Okay.”

Wonwoo relaxes and removes his hand to grip the box again. His palms are sweating slightly, but he’s never been so sure of something as he is of this.

Junhui peruses again, “Will you at least tell me why we’re going back to campus?”

No more running.

Wonwoo inhales, hyperaware of the box in his hands. “We’re going stargazing.” He smiles. “Last time, okay?”

The cab driver drops them off in front of the physical sciences building, suitcases and bags in hand. Wonwoo moves to enter the building but stops when he senses that Junhui isn’t following behind him. He’s rooted on the spot, staring at his feet, clutching the straps of his bag tightly.

“Jun-ah.”

At the call of his name, Junhui’s head jerks up to look at Wonwoo. Wonwoo holds out his arm to Junhui, a silent invitation for to link their elbows together. He sees Junhui’s Adam’s apple bob up and down once, before running to him and slipping his arm through Wonwoo’s, suitcase rolling noisily against the pavement.

Wordlessly, Wonwoo leads them through the building they’ve walked through hundreds of times alone and hundreds of times together. Their footsteps echo through the hallways, nearly empty now that the year was over, save for a few professors. He passes by the same gigantic stellar evolution infographic he’s seen for almost four years now. They round the corner, and there it is, down the rows of lockers and labs, past the lecture halls and classrooms.

The door shuts behind them.

It’s the same sunset he’s seen a dozen times, but it never fails to amaze him at how the sun plunges daringly into the horizon and gives way for the night and its blanket of stars.

He settles into his seat, feeling Junhui do the same beside him, and gazes up. Lately, the constellation he always manages to spot first is Cassiopeia.

His gaze naturally falls to Junhui, stars illuminating his profile softly, lining his tall nose and cheekbones. He lets himself imagine what Junhui would look like if he brought him back home. 

“In Changwon, the sky's clear enough to see the stars,” Wonwoo says, "The real constellations."

Beside him, Junhui shifts and tucks his legs up against his chest. “Really? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it like that.”

Wonwoo isn’t surprised, given that Junhui grew up in Shenzhen and moved to Seoul for university. He’s never been away from huge, metropolitan cities.

“I’ll take you someday.”

Junhui untucks his legs. “Is that a promise?” he asks.

“Maybe,” Wonwoo answers.

“Maybe?” There’s a hint of amusement there, a small quirk of the lips.

It’s just the two of them, the white noise of the projector working in the background, and their breathing, universe as his witness.

“Depends,” he says, “If you want to.”

Junhui stares at him for a few moments. “Are you asking me?” his voice quivers.

“I’m asking.”

“Wonwoo,” Junhui speaks slowly, voice dropping low. “You said… when I asked, you said….” And he lets out a pained laugh as he retrieves his arm, slipping it out from the crook of Wonwoo’s elbow. “I’m going to miss my flight.” He stands up, turning to find the suitcase handle.

“Junhui.” Wonwoo grabs his hand and stands up. The darkness mars his sense of depth, and suddenly, he notices that they’re a lot closer than he expected. They’re almost nose to nose, and his breath stutters at the proximity. He shuffles back a step but doesn’t want to let go of his hand just yet. “I should have… I should have said something earlier. Before.”

And after everything between them, his biggest regret is just that: not letting Junhui know how loved he is, because he should have everything he wants and deserves and more. Even if he is leaving, even if they never see each other again—at the very least, Junhui should _know_.

“I love you,” Wonwoo hears himself say, almost unsure that he said it himself. It knocks the wind out of him, saying it out loud. He breathes out shakily, taking in Junhui’s widened eyes and parted lips, and that’s all he needs to know that this isn’t a dream, and that he needs to make himself clear.

He repeats, words so foreign to his tongue but so familiar in his head, “I’m in love with you.”

It grounds him. There are wings beating in his chest, but he is on the ground, anchored by the weight of his own words.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo breathes out, “For burdening you with this when you’re about to leave, for wanting you to stay. I just—you needed to know. That you don’t have anything to prove, and you have a family here if you want to stay.” He tightens his grip on Junhui’s hand, ice cold but inexplicably warm against his palm. “And you have me. No matter what, you always have me. I know I’m being terrible and selfish and it’s not my place—”

The light suddenly shifts in front of him, and Wonwoo doesn’t remember who moved first or how it happened. Junhui’s kissing him, stealing his breath, hands cradling his face, invading all his senses as the darkness gives way for him.

It’s everything all at once: it’s _Junhui, Junhui, Junhui_.

Wonwoo reacts instinctively and snakes his arms around Junhui’s waist as he kisses back, feverishly. He kisses like a parched man wandering through a desert that has just found water. Knocked breathless, but he can _breathe_. Wonwoo stumbles, the back of his knees hitting the edge of the seat behind him, and he falls onto it, pulling Junhui down with him.

Junhui rests his knee on the seat between Wonwoo’s legs for balance as Wonwoo holds him steady by the waist. It lights fires on his skin, warmth spreading where Junhui’s fingers thumb at Wonwoo’s jaw and where his palms press against Wonwoo’s neck, tilting his head upwards to meet his lips over and over again, parting only to gasp for air.

From the corner of his awareness, he feels his foot bump against Junhui’s suitcase, and it wakes a part of him he never wants conscious again, not right now, not ever, but he can’t do this knowing that it could be the last.

“Junnie,” Wonwoo tries, slowly sobering up, murmuring into Junhui’s mouth. The syllables of his name tumble off his tongue reverently and get swallowed. Junhui drags his hand from Wonwoo’s jaw up into his hair, trailing fire up his neck, making his breath hitch. “Junnie, wait—”

He feels something wet fall onto his cheeks. Another smears onto the tip of his nose. Wonwoo opens his eyes, only to be met with Junhui’s, screwed tightly shut, eyelashes studded with tears. Junhui sobs once against Wonwoo’s lips, knee shaking on the seat, about to buckle. Gently, Wonwoo pulls away slightly and curls his fingers around Junhui’s, bringing it down from his face to press swollen lips to his knuckles.

“Junnie,” he calls softly, waiting for him to speak.

“Jeon Wonwoo,” Junhui says hoarsely, voice breaking in between, “Why— _why_ didn’t you say something before—”

He rests his forehead on Wonwoo’s, eyes still shut, hiccupping and breathing shakily while he tries to collect himself, and Wonwoo lets him take his time. 

Wonwoo drags his palm across Junhui’s wet cheek and rests it on Junhui’s nape to gently thumb at the space behind his ear. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” Junhui reaches up to rub his eyes, fingers still entangled with Wonwoo’s, not letting go. He feels the wetness against his hand with each furious wipe. There’s a fallen eyelash just shy of the mole on his left cheek; Wonwoo brushes it away.

“I really am, though.”

Junhui hiccups in response.

Affection bursts within his chest, and Wonwoo can’t help but smile and chuckle softly. He shifts to settle Junhui fully on his lap and rubs his back, patiently waiting for it to subside. Junhui’s forehead falls onto his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, too,” Junhui speaks quietly, once his hiccups start to space out.

Wonwoo furrows his brows in confusion, and tilts his head back slightly to get a look at Junhui’s face. “For what?”

He turns his head so that his face is hidden into Wonwoo’s shoulder. “For making you feel like this.”

“I’m happy,” Wonwoo says, automatically, without thinking, because that has never even been a question.

Loving Junhui came easy. It was so natural to fall in love with him, so easy that Wonwoo didn't realize it until it was too late, and he'd fallen for someone already one foot out the door. And he'd tried to walk away, he really tried, because he knew it would hurt in the end. 

But then, every day, it became easier and easier to find reasons to love him, until one day the reasons became blurry and indistinguishable. Until it was just… Junhui. 

At the end of the day, he has never been happier than he is with Junhui.

It all comes back to that.

Junhui shakes his head and clears his throat. “I made you hurt,” he says, throat sounding raw from crying, “Made you think you’re selfish, when I’m the selfish one.” He lifts his head off Wonwoo’s shoulder and fiddles with Wonwoo’s fingers, grazing over each of his knuckles and joints.

He keeps his eyes fixated on their hands.

“I can’t even leave a family that’s ashamed of me,” he says, curling against Wonwoo’s chest, “They’re _family_. What am I supposed to do? Even if the world is against you, you’re supposed to have your family. They’re supposed to love you and all, ‘cause you’re their kid. But I couldn’t even go back because I knew if I didn’t bring back something, they wouldn’t look at me.”

Wonwoo rubs circles over his back as Junhui continues, voice wobbling, “And I hoped you’d ask me to stay to give me an excuse, but you didn’t, because you’re Wonwoo,” and he cracks a smile, “You support me no matter what.”

He hums in response, resting his hand now on the small of Junhui’s back. “Do you want to?” Wonwoo asks. Quietly. Carefully. “Do you want to stay?”

Junhui sits up and looks at him, _really_ looks at him. “I’ve been trying all this time to look for reasons to leave, for ways I can make them look at me and see _me_ ,” he says, “But I don’t think they ever will anymore. As long as I keep chasing after them... I’ll always be the one left behind.”

He traces down Wonwoo’s nose bridge with his finger, and Wonwoo scrunches up his nose, heart beating in his throat at his every word. “I don’t want to be left behind anymore.”

“You have me,” Wonwoo says gently, catching his hand. 

“I have you,” Junhui repeats his words, slowly and gingerly, as if he’s testing the taste of each syllable and rolling them off his tongue. He breaks into a smile so genuine it steals Wonwoo’s breath away, expression so tender that his heart aches in his chest. He feels it deep in his bones and grips his hand tighter, silently vowing to not let Junhui forget it, to let him be able to say it freely and know that without a doubt, it’s true.

“And Soonyoung,” Wonwoo leans up and kisses the left mole just above Junhui’s lips, “and Jihoon”, another kiss to the right, “and Myungho, Mingyu,” one to his cheek, and Junhui’s laughing now, pushing his shoulders back.

“Okay, okay,” he giggles, lightly pressing against Wonwoo’s chest. “You have a lot more names to go.”

“I’m serious,” Wonwoo says solemnly, and Junhui’s laughter dies down at his tone. “Whatever you want to do, you still have us.”

Junhui looks at him with the stars reflecting in his eyes.

“I’m scared, still,” he admits. His jaw tenses and he swallows. “But I think… I think I’m done chasing their shadows. I’m done being the son they’re too embarrassed to talk about. Someday, they’ll look back at me and regret it, and maybe they won’t, but I have to start somewhere.”

Wonwoo frowns. “Ahead,” he corrects.

“What?”

“Someday they’ll look and see you, _ahead_.” He flicks Junhui’s forehead between his brows.

Junhui touches his palm to his forehead, wide-eyed, and bites his bottom lip to contain his smile. By all accounts, he fails, and _oh_ , Wonwoo has missed seeing this.

“That’s a lot of faith you have in me,” Junhui says jokingly, but Wonwoo doesn’t smile. Instead, he flicks his forehead again for good measure, and Junhui bats at his hand, affronted. “Yah, that hurts!”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” Junhui rubs his forehead, brows pinched together.

“You got this far by yourself, because you’re that capable, not because you’re your dad’s kid,” Wonwoo says, prying Junhui’s hand off his forehead so he can hold it again. He shakes his head. “It’s not faith. It’s just what I’ve seen from you.”

And it’s true. Behind that adorable childish innocence is a sense of maturity and mental persistence that peeks through time and time again. Always looking for the good in others and trying to see the light in difficult situations. Unwilling to wallow in his own self-pity. Lending space in his heart for other people, even when he has no more space for himself.

He’s always loved that about him. Full of contradictions and opposites that clash alone but are complementary in Junhui. He’s the dawn and dusk, the black and white, the sun and moon. He’s Wonwoo’s past and he’s also Wonwoo’s future, if he’s willing to be.

In Wonwoo’s eyes, Junhui is already ahead. Far, far ahead.

“We’ll figure it out.” Wonwoo squeezes Junhui’s fingers. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.”

It's a silent promise, and Junhui squeezes back, warm and familiar. He stands up shakily, pulling Wonwoo to his feet, and plays with Wonwoo’s hands nervously, tracing invisible patterns into his palms. He doesn't quite meet his eyes, looking uncertain as he asks, voice small, “Will you wait for me?”

Some things are simple: the sun is a star, the earth turns on an axis, humans are made of stardust, everything dies eventually, and Wonwoo will wait for Junhui for however long he needs.

“Ask better questions,” Wonwoo chides, slipping one hand out from Junhui’s grasp to brush the stray hair out of Junhui’s eyes, just in time to see the relief in them as Junhui exhales a breathy laugh. He relaxes under Wonwoo’s touch, leaning into his hand, cheeks bunching up with his smile.

Then, Junhui suddenly schools his face into something dead serious.

“Marry me?”

Wonwoo’s brain short-circuits and he nearly chokes on his saliva. “I— _what_ ,” he splutters incredulously, heat rising up his face at an alarming rate. To his utter horror, for a split second, he realizes he _actually_ thought about answering him. Mortified, he immediately scowls, trying to hide his embarrassment with a façade of annoyance.

He’s met with full-blown laughter, bouncing off the high ceilings. Junhui steps forward, still breathless from his fit, and circles his arms around Wonwoo’s neck, chest pressed flush against him, noses touching playfully. His eyes shimmer with mirth, and it’s even more breathtaking from up close, a whole universe in them. 

“Just asking better questions,” Junhui whispers, breath ghosting across Wonwoo’s lips.

Wonwoo glares at him, because if he doesn’t, he thinks he might not make it out of here. “You’re unbelievable.” He turns his head to take a bite out of the arm resting on his shoulder.

Junhui hums placatingly, unbothered. He moves his arm away, successfully avoiding Wonwoo’s teeth, only to pull him closer by the waist. He leans in, nose brushing past his, and kisses him sweetly, confession against his lips.

Wonwoo thinks he can forgive him for asking the question first.


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small glimpse into the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100% for self-indulgence.

"Don't come yet," Wonwoo calls from in front of the stove, hoping Junhui can hear him clearly through the phone sitting on the counter. He lifts the pot lid and stares down at its steaming contents apprehensively.

It smells good. It looks... surprisingly close to what congee to look like. White. Mushy. Some green onions, some scallops. Perhaps this time, he’s actually made congee.

Beside him, his mother leans over the stove to take a whiff, tucking her hair behind her ears to stop it from falling forward. He watches her out of the corner of his eye expectantly, her forehead creasing as she raises her eyebrows in a look of surprised approval.

 _"What? Why? You told me to come over at 6. I'm leaving now, I don't want to be late,"_ comes Junhui’s voice through the speaker.

"No, no, I'm not ready yet." Wonwoo carefully puts the lid down on the stove, mindful of the condensation, and moves to grab his phone on the counter. He wipes his hands hastily on his apron before he takes Junhui off speakerphone. "Just, stay with Soonyoung for a while longer, okay? Twenty minutes?"

_"Okay... I still don't get why he isn't invited though.”_

Wonwoo clicks his tongue. "The whole point of a surprise is for you to not know." He doesn’t mention that Soonyoung would rather die than eat another bowl of Wonwoo’s congee.

 _"Then you have to explain to your mom why I'm late!"_ He can hear the pout through the phone, and he rolls his eyes.

"She knows, and she already loves you more than she loves me, so just relax," Wonwoo tells him, glancing at his mom. She’s leaning against the counter, listening to him attentively and laughing quietly. “See you in twenty. Love you.”

Wonwoo hangs up when Junhui echoes it back, smiling softly, before moving back in front of the stove. He's not sure what to do now that the congee looks like it's almost done. Success has never been this close before. It’s oddly unsettling.

He’s not making Junhui congee because he’s sick. No, Junhui hasn’t been sick since the last time they were back in fourth year, and Wonwoo is starting to think that there might be some truth to Junhui’s supposed super-immunity. It felt sort of morally questionable to anticipate your boyfriend’s suffering, so instead, he's making homemade congee for him to eat on a regular Saturday night.

God knows the trials and tribulations he’s gone through—or, more accurately, what Soonyoung has gone through—to prepare for this.

"It must be so nice to be Junhui," his mom comments amusedly, reaching up to pat his cheek affectionately before pinching it. "I don't think I've ever gotten a meal from my son before."

Wonwoo dodges the second pinch and retorts, "You never let me go into the kitchen."

"You lit Bohyuk's shirt on fire,” she points out.

From upstairs, he hears a shout and a frustrated groan.

“Is he still playing that shooting game upstairs?” She raises her voice in concern, frown pulling the corners of her lips down. “He's been playing since he woke up, _and_ he still has schoolwork. What is he doing?” Her eyes narrow and she quickly makes her way over to the bottom of the staircase to shout, “Yah! Jeon Bohyuk, come downstairs to help make dinner!”

“Five minutes!” comes Bohyuk’s muffled voice. Wonwoo bites back a laugh. He's not coming down in five minutes. Wonwoo would know; he does the same thing.

His mother huffs, shaking her head at Wonwoo as she comes back into the kitchen, slippers shuffling along the tiles with loud smacks. “You shouldn’t have introduced him to those games. Now he doesn’t do anything but play all day.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “It’s not my fault he doesn’t have any friends,” he says, reflexively. He earns himself a sharp-eyed glare, not unlike his own.

“You’re almost twenty-four and you still fight with your brother like you did ten years ago," she sighs, shaking her head. She turns to the bottom draw and pulls out a spoon. “Alright, let’s have a taste.”

He straightens his back in anticipation. Junhui is coming in twenty minutes and he really cannot afford to remake it; they still have to put together the final touches for dinner, and if he has to push this back _again_ , he’s going to be upset. Soonyoung already quit being his guinea pig, so he is now truly out of options, given that Bohyuk has an extreme aversion to the idea of Wonwoo in the kitchen, and unfortunately Wonwoo just doesn’t have enough blackmail on Jihoon.

This time, though, he’s almost positive that he got the ratio of rice to water correct.

She blows lightly over the spoon and takes the mouthful, savoring for a couple seconds before passing judgement.

"Mhm. Minghao's grandmother is really amazing." She holds out her spoon to Wonwoo after scooping up some scallops. He bends down to get a taste. "Really, it's a completely different feel from Korean restaurants. I think Junhui's going to like this."

The texture is better than the last, and it definitely has some flavor this time. The scallops aren’t hard, which is… a good sign, he decides. Although, he’s not really sure if he’s fit to judge whether this is actually good or not; after a certain point, all congee had started to taste the same to him, and he tells her so.

His mother clicks her tongue and looks at him flatly. She puts the spoon in the sink and places the lid back on the pot, turning off the stove, methodical and natural. As she reaches for a cloth to wipe the countertops, Wonwoo spies a growing, secretive little smile on her face.

“What is it?” he asks, curiosity piquing.

He watches on in further confusion as she just laughs in response while wiping the last corners of the countertop. She puts down the kitchen cloth and beckons him closer, arms spread invitingly, and Wonwoo steps closer to rest his cheek on the crown of her head. He takes in the familiar warmth and comforting smell as he hugs her shoulders, marvelling at how it feels like it was just a year ago when he only able to press his face into her stomach. He’s a whole head taller than her now. 

"You've grown up, Wonwoo," she says wistfully, rubbing his back.

Wonwoo chuckles. “You just scolded me for being childish a minute ago.”

"That’s just with your brother. You two will always be kids together, no matter how old you both get,” she tells him fondly. She gestures to the pot sitting on the stove. “I have Junhui to thank for this.”

Wonwoo snorts. "You think I've grown up because I've managed to make congee, with you holding my hand through the whole thing?" he says, but he hides his grin in her hair.

It’s an entirely different feeling, knowing how much his parents—and even Bohyuk to some extent—like Junhui. Nothing can compare to the day his family met Junhui for dinner. His mother couldn’t stop talking about him after he’d left. She’d bombarded Wonwoo left and right with questions about Junhui, while his dad had quietly listened beside her, nodding his head attentively every now and then at Wonwoo’s answers.

Nowadays, he suspects that his mother calls Junhui more than she calls him.

"Yes, that," she laughs, and pats his chest, leaning back to get a good look at his face. She smooths down the stray hairs on the sides of his head with well-practiced fingers. "But also, you managed to find someone who you want to cook for, to be responsible for. That’s when I knew you’d grown up.”

She fixes his fringe in a way that makes it look a little too neat, so he shakes his hair out to tousle it back. “He makes you happy, and there is nothing better than seeing your children be happy,” she continues, batting his hands away to brush his bangs out again. She gives him a smile full of expectations. “I'm sure you'll find out someday.”

He flushes, feeling the tips of his ears grow warm at the insinuation. "A little too early for that, I think."

"What, I can’t dream of having grandkids?"

"Mom,” he groans, and runs a hand through his hair exasperatedly, completely undoing whatever she tried to fix.

"Alright, alright," she purses her lips in mock disappointment, then chuckles warmly, relenting. Familiar words soothe over his ears, "As long as you're happy, I’m happy."

She says this easily, like it's just a gentle reminder for him to buy eggs later, as if it doesn't carry the weight of nearly twenty-four years of truth. Wonwoo leans forward and bends down to press his forehead to her shoulder, just as he’s done ever since he was tall enough to do so.

Here, Junhui gets nagged about eating properly and about wearing enough layers when the seasons change. He gets told tips and tricks for picking out the best vegetables at the grocery store; Wonwoo remembers coming home from work to visit one day, only to discover that Junhui and his mom did _groceries_ together, of all things, without even telling him. Junhui had worn a huge, proud and childish grin on his face when Wonwoo’s mother praised him for being able to carry all the grocery bags at once. What a kiss-ass. He laughs into his mother's shoulder at the thought, warmth blooming and filling his chest.

She pats the side of his face lovingly and pulls away to grab a few large bowls from the cupboards. “Let’s finish getting dinner ready so my favorite son can eat well, yeah?” She takes out the _tteokbokki_ , one of Junhui's favorite Korean dishes, and gets ready to heat it up over the pan.

Wonwoo blinks.

"Who's your favorite son?"

She looks back at him over her shoulder, eyes crinkling, nose scrunching up.

**Author's Note:**

> (Junhui is her favorite son.)
> 
> Ahh... this entire fic has been Wonwoo-centric because he is my muse, but my hidden agenda has always been to show how loved Junhui is even when he isn't there (if you can't tell, I am whipped to the moon for him). I smiled the entire time writing this little bonus scene, and I hope you enjoyed it. <3
> 
> This is the first fanfic I've ever written and posted, so everything is very experimental and sort of unpolished (oh the woes of writing dialogue). But, I wanted to write a wonhui fic, desperately, so here it is. Thank you so much for reading!
> 
>   
> EDIT: I made a twitter account, [@junspectacles](https://twitter.com/junspectacles), come talk to me :)


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